Tipping Point
by chibiness87
Summary: Post S.19 Ep 5 River's Edge pt 2. The morning after the night before. J/N. T for language.
1. Chapter 1: Nikki

**Tipping point** , by **chibiness87**  
 **Rated** T  
 **Spoilers** : Up to and including S.19 ep 5 – River's edge (pt 2)  
 **Disclaimer** : Nope. Still not mine.  
 **Summary** : The morning after the night before.

* * *

By the time she gets back to the lab, everyone else has gone. It's a blessing in disguise, really. Because even now the bruises are beginning to form, and she doesn't really want to have to answer more questions tonight. Even if a small, (very small,) part of her would have liked it if someone, anyone (Jack) was still there to tell her everything would be ok. So when she gets back to only find a note on her desk in his scrawling handwriting, ("Good one, Nikki". And a crudely drawn smiley face,) she pretends, just for a moment, she isn't disappointed. And then she pulls herself together. Because she is Dr Nikki Alexander. And she does not need anyone to tell her she is OK. She is always OK regardless.

(Sometimes she's not, though.

She doesn't think about those times.

They hurt too much.)

* * *

The next day the bruises are much more pronounced on her pale skin than she was hoping they would have been. Simon Forsyth obviously had more of a grip on her than she thought he had. Rifling through her closet brings up very few options that would suitably cover the bruises. An old turtleneck catches her eye, but even before it is out she is dismissing it. That is an obvious attempt at hiding. She needs something a bit more subtle.

Instead she chooses a high collared blouse, and as an added protection she picks up the light scarf she had been given by the team as part of her presents for her last birthday. The deep royal blue tone complements her skin tone (that without the bruising, anyway), and the silver dragonfly accents only help to emphasise this. (That she wears them most days to work at the moment is just an added bonus; no one will question its presence, unlike the rejected turtleneck.)

She is the first to arrive, (and how is that fair, after last night?!) but at least it gives her a chance to settle in at her desk, and she is fully engrossed in a report by the time the comfortable chatter between Jack and Clarissa disturbs her peace.

"I'm just sayin', it's not the same. Nikki, back me up on this."

The sound of her name brings her head up quickly, and her scarf slips a little. "Wha-?"

But Jack doesn't repeat the question. Instead, his eyes are focused on her neck.

"Nikki? What happened?"

Her hands fly to her neck on reflex, before her brain engages and she drops it. "Nothing, I'm fine."

Except this is the first time she has tried to speak all morning and all that comes out is a harsh whisper. She sees the anger cover Jack's face, but his hands are nothing but gentle as he pulls her scarf away and gets a good look at the marks covering her skin. There is a startled gasp behind them, and she knows Clarissa has seen them too. Ducking her head, she tries to avoid their knowing looks.

Without taking his eyes off her neck, Jack speaks over his shoulder. "Clarissa, get the first aid box, would you?"

Clarissa doesn't reply, but they hear the whir of her chair as she drives away, and obviously intercepting Thomas in the hall, if the muffled conversation is anything to go by. But neither Nikki nor Jack pay it much heed.

There is still a storm in Jack's eyes as he takes in the details of the bruises. Nikki knows he can tell what has happened; she works with well trained, highly intelligent people after all. But it is what happens next that completely throws her. His hands skim over the bruises, barely touching her, and she can't keep her head like she is without basically giving him permission.

She is not ashamed, or angry. Actually, scratch that. Yes she is. But she doesn't want pity. So she goes to push his hand away with her own, only to find it caught in a loose grasp instead. Jack gives a big sigh, before his lips follow the path his hands have just taken over her neck, gossamer soft.

It is all she can do to keep breathing at this point.

Pulling back, Jack rests his head against hers, his eyes closed and the slight grip on her hand becomes more forceful. Leaning together like that, Jack whispers, "You know, I could kill him for that alone."

And she does know. She saw it in the woods when he took on their pursuer who was armed when he himself had nothing to protect himself with except his speed. And for the first time she was glad, so, so glad that he had experience of cage fighting. Because she might not be there right now if it wasn't for him.

But she also knows Jack. Knows his heart, his loyalty. Knows he is the better person at the end. Because yes, he could have pulled the trigger, claimed it was self-defence. Hell, she would have backed him up (so what does that make her, anyway?), but he hadn't.

It's not the man he is.

So she does the only thing she can in response to his statement. She rebuffs it.

"No. You wouldn't."

Jack gives a rueful sigh. "How do you know? You have no idea what I'm capable of."

She thinks back to the woods, to the times she's seen him cage fight. To the time years ago when the truth of what his brother did for him came out. Of all the cases they have worked together. Of him standing in the way of fists and cars and bullets on the way to the truth.

"I know exactly what you're capable of." She gives him a small smile.

"No. You don't."

Before she can say anything else, his mouth is pressed to hers. The kiss is quick, and hard, and full of promises and unleashed passion. Just as quickly as it starts it's ended, and she sees the anger in his eyes has been replaced by something else, something more, but equally as dangerous.

It enthrals her.

"You don't know. But if you want to find out, you know where to find me."

And then he is gone.

* * *

TBC?


	2. Chapter 2: Jack

A/N: You asked, I answered. This is now officially a WIP. You only have yourselves to blame…

* * *

In the end, they compromise. The Italian restaurant he books is nice, but does not have any Michelin Stars. The upside of that is the price. Oh, and the fact that the courses consist of more than three mouthfuls. And they can, y'know, actually get in that night, not in two months' time.

And hey, as he points out, it still beats Chez Jack's.

Clarissa, it seems, needs more convincing. To the point of when they meet up outside the Lyell centre the next morning she is still going on about it. Honestly, he doesn't know how he puts up with her sometimes.

Actually, scratch that. Yes he does. But that doesn't mean she gets to win all the time.

Still, it would be nice if her opening gambit wasn't, "It wouldn't have killed you to get us in somewhere even a little up-market, you know."

Jack gives her a glare with no heat behind it as they make their way inside. In pure falsetto, he adds, "Hi Jack. Last night was really nice. Thanks for picking up the tab and all. How are you this morning?"

The look Clarissa gives him in return might be favourably labelled as exasperation. "Michelin Stars, Jack. You promised."

Voice back to normal, he sighs. "Oh, I see how it is. This is the thanks I get for a nice meal, is it? Besides, those places are always too up themselves for their own good."

Clarissa snorts. "Really? Name one time…"

But before she can finish the question he is answering. "My birthday, two years ago. Remember? We all went out and spent more money on ten mouthfuls of food than I did for the rest of the month! What's wrong with actually feeding people, huh?"

"Just because you can't appreciate the finer details of Michelin star dining doesn't mean…"

"I'm just sayin', it's not the same." Rounding the corner, he sees Nikki (always the early bird) already sitting at her desk, and calls out to her for help. "Nikki, back me up on this."

He can tell he's startled her by the way her head flies up, her scarf slipping ever so slightly. He's about to comment on the fact that she still has it on, when yesterday she had taken the one she had been wearing off within minutes of entering the building, complaining it was making her too hot, when he notices the bruises.

It's hard to miss them, really. The deep purple and black coin shaped marks right over her throat, 4-1 pattern in a classic choke hold. His blood runs cold. "Nikki? What happened?"

But he doesn't need her answer, not really. He can tell exactly what has happened, and suddenly he wants nothing more than to go back twelve hours (was it only 12?) to the night before and wait for her to return to the lab before going out to dinner to make sure she was OK.

He is across the room and bending down to get a better look before his brain has fully registered everything. Gently, ever so gently, he pulls the scarf away and gets a good look at what that monster has done. Eyes fixated on her neck, he asks Clarissa to go get a first aid box. Ice packs. Anything, really, at this point.

(To be honest, a punching bag wouldn't go amiss either, but he has more important things to do right now.)

Fingers barely skimming her skin, he takes in the damage, feeling his pulse increase at the sight flinch she gives as he brushes over the tender marks. He sees her hand come up to push him away as she brings her head up, but his reflexes are still sharp, and he gently catches her wrist before she can make contact. He is helpless to do anything more than brush his lips over the bruises, trying to apologise with the gesture, even if she doesn't know or understand what for.

He feels the hitch in her breathing as he does so, and finally pulls back, but only enough so he can rest his forehead against hers. Just the thought of the force needed to inflict that type of contusion sends his pulse racing, and he grips her hand tighter as a reminder to himself she is still here. Trying not to let the full brunt of his anger (at Forsyth, yes, but also a little bit at her) from seeping in to his voice, he whispers, "You know, I could kill him for that alone."

He feels her tense under him, but he won't apologise for telling her the truth. Because he could. He would. He has come to realise there is nothing he wouldn't do to protect the woman in front of him; even if that means taking on a hitman with a gun while he is completely unarmed. It was only the fact she had been injured and they needed that sad fuck alive that had meant he hadn't pulled the trigger back in the woods.

"No. You wouldn't."

The words she whispers back are full of confidence, and it throws him. Because how can she be so sure when even he is not. He thinks back to all the times he has lost control. Of the years his brother spent in jail because he couldn't control his temper. Of all the cage fighting he does just to let the anger out somehow.

So, with a rueful sigh, he rebuffs her knowing tone. "How do you know? You have no idea what I'm capable of."

There is a pause, and the words hang heavy in the air. And then she still finds it within herself to argue with him. Honestly, what is it with the women in his life that constantly fight against him?

"I know exactly what you're capable of."

This time, his response is more immediate.

"No. You don't." And then, to prove he's right and she's wrong and because she's sat there with bruises on her neck and a bandage on her leg and because Jesus Christ she could have fucking died and he wouldn't have known anything about it and how can she still look at him like that he kisses her. Quick and hard and he tries to show her everything without showing her too much, so it's over before she can fully react. Or, hey, hit him.

And then they are just two people on the cusp of… something, and he sees wonder and confusion in her eyes, and wonders if she can see any of what he feels in his.

Feeling like his point has been made, he tells her again, "You don't know. But if you want to find out, you know where to find me."

She takes a breath as if she's about to protest, and he can't let her. Because if she says anything he might just kiss her again. Or yell at her. So before he can find out, he stands and leaves without looking back.

He feels her hand try to grab him as he pulls away, her startled, "Jack?" almost breaking him. But he knows they both need a little time, and probably a little space, so he pushes on.

It is the hardest thing he has ever had to do.

* * *

TBC.


	3. Chapter 3: Nikki

A/N: Thanks to all those who are reading this and asking for more. And to all those who are just reading. A small warning – this is more angst/hurt than comfort. Bear with me. They'll get there.

* * *

She calls his name as he leaves her there, the press of his mouth against hers leaving her lips burning. Rising to follow him out, she is stopped by the appearance of both Thomas and Clarissa in the doorway. She tries to get past them, but their concern isn't easy to dissuade, and she ends up letting them examine the bruising to her neck.

Eventually, however, enough is enough, and she manages to get away. The challenge Jack issued before he left echoes in her mind, and she begins to think. It is very important she manages to track him down before he gets into trouble. Or, knowing Jack like she does, injures himself. Because as much as he had threatened to hurt someone else, she knows it is him who is more in danger than anyone, especially in this state.

She doesn't have a set route or plan in mind, so it takes her a while to track him down in the end. But when she does she wonders why she didn't think to start where her search has inevitably ended up. Instead of making her presence known, she stands in the shadows, watching him like a voyeur as his fists fly with accuracy and power into the heavy bag hung before him. At some point he had discarded his shirt, and the sheen of sweat over his back tells her he has been here for a while.

It takes her a minute of observing to notice his hands are bare, however, and it is this that finally propels her into the room. Approaching him slowly, not wanting to startle him when he is like this, she makes sure her heels make a sound on the hard floor beneath them to announce herself.

Finally getting level, she is shocked to see the intense concentration on his face as he keeps hitting the punch bag for all he's worth. Right-left, Right-left, right-left, right-left, and then a firm uppercut with his right hand, before the he starts the jabs again with his left hand. The only sound in the room is that of each fist as it makes contact and his harsh breathing as he keeps constant pace.

Still facing the bag, he eventually breaks the otherwise silence with, "Why are you here?"

Her voice is still weak, and she sees him flinch as she responds. But if he gets to ask stupid questions, then so can she. "Why are you?"

With a final uppercut, he pauses his attack on the bag, almost sagging against it, and she is helpless to not try to support him. He goes to push her away, before something stops him from actually making contact. Instead, without meeting her eyes, he whispers, "You shouldn't be here."

The words do what he physically couldn't do, and she withdraws, shocked and a little bit hurt. "Wha-? Why not?"

Without answering, he goes to pick up a well-worn towel and his shirt where they have been shoved away on the floor, but is stopped when she reaches out and places her hand on his arm, not surprised to feel it shaking slightly beneath her palm. The effort he had been putting in to his routine must have made his muscles fatigued, and she wonders again just how long he has been here.

This time, he does meet her gaze, but his tone is still cold. "Don't."

"Jack…"

"I mean it, Nikki." This time his retrieval of his belongings is successful, but she still hears the hiss of pain he lets out when his fist closes around the rough material of his shirt. Gently, she reaches over and takes his shirt away from him before cradling his battered hand in hers.

Tracing the split knuckles, she wipes away a thin film of blood that has begun to ooze from some of the deeper cuts he's sustained from the punch bag. "You should have wrapped these. You know that. Why would you…"

"Because you could have died!"

She is so shocked by the tears that have formed in his eyes, it takes a minute for the words to filter through to her brain. When the do, she drops his arm, her hand going to her neck again, self-consciously. "I…"

His hands are on her wrists again, holding her against him. If it wasn't Jack she might have been scared by the power he was so evidently showing, but it is and she isn't. His eyes are closed, his forehead resting on hers once more, and his voice is barely over a whisper as he confesses, "I want to kill him. I do. I want to go down to that cell and wrap my hands round his fucking neck and squeeze and squeeze until he can't breathe anymore, because I can't get the image of him doing that to you out of my head."

Releasing one wrist, he pulls the scarf down, barring her marred skin once more. "You could've died. And I can't…"

He doesn't finish, instead rests his head against her neck, his arms now circling her torso, holding, no, clinging to her. His body is shaking against hers, but she doesn't know if it's from the exhaustion or from something else. So she lets him hold her while she holds him, his words and the passion behind them stilling her from doing anything more than that right then. His words from earlier echo in her mind. _You have no idea what I'm capable of._ She can't help think that maybe he's right after all, maybe she doesn't.

It doesn't mean she doesn't want to know though. So, even though she is holding him more than he is holding her now, she lets him in a little.

"So could you."

And then it is her turn to let out some of what she has been holding back for so long. "You were run over. Beaten and left to die on the side of the road. And then shot. And you could have been killed right in front of me, and then what would have happened to me, huh?" (In the one and only grief counselling session she had attended after Leo's death, she had been told she had abandonment issues. She had snorted in reply, and had told the shrink just before she had walked out that maybe if people didn't keep leaving her, maybe she wouldn't have them.) "You made me need you, even after everything else when I promised I would never need anyone like that again, and I hate you for that. I hate that I need you. I hate that you have that power over me."

She is crying again now, her head burrowed against Jack's neck, breathing him in. The fear she had felt back in the woods returns, and it is only the feel of his very much here, very much breathing skin beneath her hands that is stopping her from losing it completely.

"I hate you," she tells him again, with absolutely no heat or truth behind the words.

Jack pulls back from her, and his eyes trace over her face. She wonders what a picture she currently makes to him. She wonders why she cares. And then she doesn't care, because he is kissing her again. Only this time, it is slow. And long. And she stops wondering what he sees, and simply kisses him back.

* * *

TBC


	4. Chapter 4 Jack

A/N: Thanks to all those who are continuing to read this and leave messages of support.

A/N 2: I may have a thing about fit guys working out shirtless. This may become apparent a little later. Angry Jack ahead.

* * *

He can't look back.

Pushing past the startled look of both Clarissa and Thomas, now carrying and ice pack and the first aid box, he hoarsely demands, "Look after her."

Clarissa knows there is something wrong, he can tell, and she even goes as far as to question him. "Where are you going?!"

But he can't, won't, stop. So instead he keeps heading towards the door calling back over his shoulder, "Out."

And then he is gone, out into fresh air, as much as London air can be called that. There is a slight drizzle falling now, and he welcomes the feel of it on his overheated skin as he makes his way to his car. Slipping into the driver's seat, he finally lets the emotion he's been holding in for the past few minutes out with a fierce yell. His fists hit the steering wheel in front of him, and it feels good, so he does it again. And again. On the third time he hits the horn though, and he knows he can't stay here, taking everything out on his car.

Besides, Nikki might be right on his heels, and he can't deal with seeing her again, not right now. So, although not in the calmest of minds, he slots the ignition key in, turns the engine over, and is out the car park without a real destination in mind.

He drives around aimlessly for a good forty minutes before the weight of the traffic begins to annoy him, and he starts thinking about destinations. Looking out to see where he has ended up, he is surprised to find his autopilot driving, (if crawling along in rush hour traffic can be called driving,) has taken him into the neighbourhood of a gym he uses from time to time.

Another five minutes, and he is pulling into the car park. Reaching in to the back seat, he picks up the gym bag he always has stashed there, and heads inside. The receptionist glances up at the creak of the door, and gives him a warm smile. "Jack. Been a little while. Shouldn't you be at work?"

He can't go into why he isn't, not to her. Instead, he gives her a half-hearted smile, which fades before it has fully taken shape. "Hi. You got any bags free?"

"For you? Always." She gives him a flirty grin, but when his face remains still it drops quickly. "I'll get James to set it up for you. You go get your hands taped and what-not. Should be a few minutes, OK?"

He gives her a nod in reply, heading down the corridor to the changing room. Pulling his top off over his head, he pulls open the bag, removing a well-worn towel, and a faded work-out top. He sighs as a quick search tells him he's forgotten to put his tracksuit bottoms in, so he'll have to stick to the jeans he's already got on. A final rifle through the front pocket, and he pulls out he boxing tape, diligently taping up his knuckles firmly.

Entering the quiet gym area, he's pleased to see they have been true to their word, and there is a punch bag set up ready to go. James heads over when he sees him, giving a nod in greeting. "You want me to spot you?"

Jack gives the bag a quick look, before shaking his head. "Nah. I got it. Thanks though."

"Ok, well, you change your mind, you just give me a shout, OK?" James gives him a quick once over, checking his hands have been bound correctly. Satisfied, he gives him a nod. "She's all yours," he says, motioning to the bag before heading off.

Jack's too focused on it to respond. Stretching his arms slightly, he gives the bag a few test jabs. Happy with the way it reacts, his gives it a few more solid hits, before his body settles in to a routine he uses when he's training. A quick set of alternating jabs, before an uppercut, and then the set repeating with his alternate hands.

The solid hits he makes begin to settle him, and for the next fifteen minutes he lets the familiarity lull him into a calm he hasn't felt since seeing the bruises on Nikki's neck. But then the image comes back at him, and he feels his pulse rise in a way that has nothing to do with the exertion he's putting in to the bag.

Strangling someone to death is not an easy thing to do. It takes minutes, not seconds. The force behind it must be incredibly strong, and that someone could do that to Nikki... He can't get away from the thought once it's there. The fear she must have felt. The helplessness. And even now he's still not sure how she managed to get away. The thought of her having died makes him want to extract revenge, and his fists fly anew into the bag.

Eventually, breathing heavily, he pulls back, glancing down at his hands which have curled into tight fists, the nails on his fingers digging in to his palms. He can feel where the tape is digging in across his knuckles, and the sweat across his back and chest, his shirt beginning to cling to him, and suddenly it isn't enough.

Making sure James isn't in the vicinity, (he'd never stand for what he's about to do,) Jack pulls the tape off his hands, before rolling it up in his shirt as he pulls that off too. He gives his neck a quick rub over with the towel, before facing the bag once more.

The first punch this time brings with it a quick stab of pain as his bare fist makes contact, and he welcomes it. He wants more of it. So he hits it again. And again. The mocking face of Simon Forsyth flashes across his mind, and he wants nothing more than to go down to the station and wring that bastard's neck.

He doesn't know how long he's been hitting the bag when he feels her presence from across the room. Despite what everyone thinks, he's always aware of what is going on around him; he always knows when he is being watched, especially by her. But he doesn't let on that he knows she's watching him from the shadows, because he's still not sure he can deal with her yet.

He still feels angry, and his thoughts make him feel dirty, ugly. Too soon, though, she is approaching him, her heels echoing slightly across the floor. Still not able to look at her, ashamed at what must be written all over his face, he barks out, "Why are you here?" even as his fists keep up their flurry into the bag.

And when she replied, he wishes he had never asked. Because her voice is still weak from where a monster tried to crush her airway into a pulp. "Why are you?"

It is the weakness of her tone that finally makes him stop his attack with a last uppercut. He is surprised to find, with the sudden stop, he can't quite hold himself up, and sags against the bag in exhaustion. Spotting Nikki go to grab him, he goes to push her away, but the thought of putting his hands on her in anger repulses him, so instead he tries to push her away with his words. "You shouldn't be here."

He knows he's hurting her with his tone, but he cannot stand to have her touch him when he is feeling like this. Because it's not that she shouldn't be here. It's that she shouldn't be here when he's feeling this dirty. It's not the Jack he wants her to know. But she is resistant, even when she's hurt. "Wha-? Why not?"

He doesn't answer, instead reaches down to pick up his discarded top and towel, only to be stopped by her hand on his arm. His muscles spasm at the contact, and he wants nothing more than to grab her and hold her and never let go. But he feels too sullied to let her touch him. Letting some of the anger he still feels show on his face and leach into his tone, he demands, "Don't."

"Jack…" He feels himself flinch at the still weak tone of her voice, and this time his demand is more of a plea.

"I mean it, Nikki." This time the retrieval of his clothing is successful, but before he can revel in it and get the hell out of there, her hands are cradling one of his now battered ones carefully. He feels her trace across the broken and torn skin, and his eyes fixate on how she gently smooths a small film of blood away from one of the deeper cuts he's sustained from the rough material of the punch bag.

Tone now full of confusion and concern, she asks, "You should have wrapped these. You know that. Why would you…"

Her concern for him confuses him. It is all too much, all at once, and he explodes. "Because you could have died!"

The words hang in the air between them for an endless second, before her hand goes back to her throat. "I…"

But he is lost in the terror and the shame that has propelled him to this gym in the first place. Mindless of the tears he can feel welling, he drops his towel and top, instead grabbing both her hands in his, pulling her so they are pressed chest to chest. Searching her eyes briefly, he rests his head against hers, letting his eyes close as he confesses, "I want to kill him. I do. I want to go down to that cell and wrap my hands round his fucking neck and squeeze and squeeze until he can't breathe anymore, because I can't get the image of him doing that to you out of my head."

Releasing one wrist, he brings it up to the scarf she's used to hide the marks from the outside world, baring them to his gaze. "You could have died, and I can't…"

He can't bring himself to continue, the thought of her not being there too much for him. Instead, he lets his head fall to her shoulder, leaning slightly against her neck, breathing in the comforting scent of her skin, reminding himself she is still here. He pulls her a little tighter against him, wanting to feel the air she exhales on his back. He feels her arms slide around his torso a little tighter in response, and for the first time since he saw those awful marks on her pale skin he feels he might just get out of this in one piece.

Her next words, however, startle him. "So could you."

There is a hitch to her tone, and then it's like a plug has been released, because her words become a torrent. And he realises his pain and fear are equally matched by hers. "You were run over. Beaten and left to die on the side of the road. And then shot. And you could have been killed right in front of me, and then what would have happened to me, huh?"

She pauses for breath, and he begins to pull back from her. But her grip on him in strong, and he can't move more than a few inches back so they are face to face once more. "You made me need you, even after everything else when I promised I would never need anyone like that again, and I hate you for that. I hate that I need you. I hate that you have that power over me."

They have changed positions, and now her face is pressed against his neck. He hears her muffled, "I hate you," and he feels her tears as they fall against his skin. That she would feel like that, cry like that, over him, is humbling to him in the most profound way. He pulls back so he can take in her face. Her tears have made her eyes red, and her mascara is a lost cause. Her cheeks are flushed and her scarf is still askew and the bruising is still evident.

She is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

So he does what is the only sensible option left; he kisses her. And unlike last time, this one is soft, and slow, and this time, he shows her everything.

And this time, she kisses him back.

* * *

A/N 3: I'm quite tempted to leave this here. But I'm not sure. Any thoughts?


	5. Chapter 5: Nikki

A/N: OK. Fine. On we go. (BTW, that Angst in the genre? I'm putting it to good use here.)

* * *

She doesn't know how long they have been stood like this, lips and tongues fused in the most gentle battle of wills she has ever been involved in, but her lungs have been demanding air for longer than she'd like to admit. She tries to hold off the inevitable a little longer, uncertain what will happen when he realises what a mistake he's making. (Because she is certain, once he's come to his senses, that that's what he'll think, and then where will that leave her?)

Just as her oxygen levels become desperate, to the point of she knows she'll have to break this kiss if only in order to breathe, in the end it is the shock of the noisy tone of her mobile she's forgotten she has with her that ultimately breaks the two of them apart. Unable to look at him, (God, what must he even think of her right now?) she fishes her phone out of her pocket, thankful for the excuse it gives her to turn away.

Seeing the name on the screen, she accepts the call. "Clarissa?"

Her already weakened voice now has a breathless tone to it, and she wonders if Clarissa will be able to tell what's been happening across the phone line.

"Nikki. Have you had any word at all from Jack? Only it's been about two hours now…"

"Yes," she coughs to try to clear her throat a little, "yes I've found him." She feels Jack's harsh breathing on the back of her neck moments before the weight of his head is against her hair. Eyeing the hand he's chosen to rest against her hip, the blood still seeping from the cuts, she can't help but to lean some of her own weight back into him (weak. She has always been so weak) as she turns her attention back to her call. "He's here. Don't worry."

"Oh thank god. It's just, I've not seen him like that since, well…" she pauses, and Nikki knows there's a story there she isn't privy to. She doesn't know how to feel about that. "Anyway, he seemed pretty upset."

Before she can say more, Jack has reached over and plucked the phone from her hand and has stepped away. Whirling around, a little off balance now her backrest has gone, she goes to demand an explanation, when she is stopped by the serious look on his face. Instead of grabbing her phone back, she just watches as he places the phone to his own ear, and finishes off the conversation himself, his eyes, now unreadable, never once leaving hers.

"I'm fine, Clarissa. Just been working off some steam. Let Thomas know I'll be in once I've dropped Nikki off home. Bye." Hanging up, he offers her the phone back, and she snaps it out of his hand, feeling her anger rise once more at his assuming tone.

"Dropped me off home? What, am I some pretty little damsel in distress? I don't need you to…"

"The hell you don't!"

Any tenderness he had in his tone before has gone now. She draws back from him slightly, aware his anger is now directed towards her. "I…"

"No. Don't. Don't you dare stand there and tell me you don't need me. Not after…" he waves his arms around, and she assumes he means her mini breakdown against him before the kiss. (She wants to point out that _he_ kissed _her_ first, but she doesn't get a chance.) "Or what, was that just pity? Poor Jack can't deal with the fact someone fucking tried to kill the woman he…"

"NO!" The words are forced out as strong as she can manage, hurt and betrayal across her face. "Of course not…"

Jack sighs. "Then why are you trying to push me away, huh?" He reaches out, his hand coming up to gently cradle her face against his palm, and, because he is here and she is so weak, she lets some of the weight of her head fall into it, almost like a caress. Almost in a whisper, he asks, "What's going on, Nikki?"

Taking comfort in his touch, she sighs. Keeping her eye-line fixed on his chest, she admits, "I can't lose you again." Not Jack too, not after every other person of any significance to her has left her in the past.

There is confusion in his tone now. She sees him duck his head to try to catch her eyes, but hers are still trained to his chest. "Again? What are you taking about?" She sees him give a sigh. "C'mon, Nikki, you're not gonna lose me. Hey, I'm right here, see? I'm not going anywhere."

He pulls her against him again, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head, and she takes comfort in the feel of the beat of his heart under his sternum. Closing her eyes, she snakes her arm around his back, letting his presence sooth her enough to mutter, "But you did. You left me, and I can't go through that again. Not again." Voice turning slightly towards a pleading tone she can't hide, she begs, "Please, Jack, don't ask me to deal with that again."

"Nikki, I swear to god, I have no idea what you're talking about. I never left you." His muscles have begun to tighten against her again, and she knows she cannot keep the truth from him any longer.

On a sob into his chest, she finally let's go what has been haunting her for so long. "But you did. You left me. Jesus, Jack, you went and fucking died on me."

She is crying openly now against him, the memories of that fateful day plaguing her. She feels him freeze against her, before he sucks in a sharp gasp. "What?"

Suddenly, she finds herself being pushed to arm's length and forced to meet his wide eyes, demanding an explanation. She tries, but the words she needs don't come easily. "You… that car. The one that ran you…"

He's dropped his hold on her completely now, and his voice has gone back to the cold and distant one he used when she first appeared at his side in the gym. "I remember."

Despite his words, she knows he doesn't remember. Not really. Not the pain and the anger and the fear she had felt, but never told him about. Brushing a tear away, her eyes fixate on his still wounded hands, the sight of the blood still there making her whisper, "You had massive internal bleeding."

"Yeah, I know. They told me."

She nods. "We… Thomas and me. We were finally allowed to see you, to get evidence. You looked…" she trails off, eyes dropping to the floor, the image of his battered and bruised body haunting her. She feels his hand rest against her arm again, and the touch helps to settle her a little. She glances up at him, and then away once more. "And then all these machines started blaring, and you were rushed into surgery. I couldn't… I didn't even…" Again, she trails off, lost in her memories of him being pushed away from her, the nurse calling for help and blood and she feels as sick in this moment as she had done in that one.

"Nikki?"

It is the sound of his voice that reminds her that it is in the past. Raising her head to meet his again eyes momentarily, she drops it again at the confusion still present in his eyes, and, confessing to the floor, rasps out, "You crashed on the operation table." She takes a deep breath, before finally meeting his eyes with her own still tear filled ones. "It took them 98 seconds to get your heart beating again."

She sees him draw in a deep breath, and intensely feeling the loss of his hand when he drops it from her arm. Voice just barely over a whisper, he demands, "What? Why didn't you ever tell me any of this?"

Losing what little nerve she had, she lets her head fall back down so she is once again facing the floor. "You survived. It didn't seem important," she mutters, trying to hide everything just the thought of his death has done to her. Jack, it seems, is too angry to notice she is only just holding herself together right now.

"Bullshit. Didn't seem important? I died and you didn't think it would be something I might want to know?!" He whirls away from her, facing the punch bag once more. She watches as he raises his right fist, his intention clearly to have a few more rounds on the unforgiving weight.

Wanting to save his hands, and him, from any more self-inflicted abuse, she stops him with a hand to his arm before he can make contact. "What would it change? Really, Jack, what would it have changed?"

She watches him as he pauses, his fist falling to his side once more. When he doesn't answer, she gives a small nod. "That's what I thought."

Still facing the bag, she sees him sigh. "Nikki…"

But she is lost in her fears and pain, and doesn't want him to coddle her. So she he presses on, her own voice turning hard now, despite its weakness. "So don't fucking stand there and tell me I don't know what I'm talking about." Falling silent, she gives him one last broken look before turning to leave him, because she is certain he will want nothing more to do with her now. The feel of his hand as he gently grabs her wrist stops her flight, however.

"Nikki…"

The words are on a broken sob, and it is this that finally breaks her resolve. Throwing herself against his chest, she feels his arms come up to hold her tightly. Pressed up against him, she begs, "Don't ask me risk going through that again. Because I won't. I can't."

His sure touch is almost too much for her to take right then. She tries to push him away, only to feel his arms tighten slightly. His mouth presses another gossamer kiss to her crown, before he tries to calm her from her panic. "Shhh."

She feels herself begin to calm at his sure touch, but still finds herself imploring, "I can't go through that again, Jack. I can't. I can't."

"Shhhh. It's OK. I'm OK." She finds herself pushed back slightly, until her eyes are meeting his. "I'm right here, see?"

She nods, giving a hitched sob even as she takes in his solid, alive, breathing form, from his jeans up to his bare chest with all his scars on display. Her eyes land on the thin scar across his sternum, and she stills. She gently runs a finger over the mark, and can't help the quick grin as the contact makes him draw in a sharp breath.

Feeling a calm she didn't know exist settle on her, she smiles. "Yeah. I see."

And this time, she kisses him.

* * *

TBC.

* * *

A/N 2: OK, yes. I killed Jack (dodges rotten fruit). BUT, in my defence, it was for less than 2 minutes and it's all in the past and he's totally fine now. And I'm sorry, but it's what appeared on the page and once it was there I couldn't take it back… please don't hate me.


	6. Chapter 6: Jack

A/N: Two chapters in two days? What have you all done to me?!

* * *

They have been kissing for an unprecedented amount of time. He finds he really doesn't care. Mainly because, well, he never thought he would get to kiss her like this, ever, and the fact that not only is she not pulling away, but is in fact kissing him back? He isn't about to stop any time soon. He's never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth (which, really, what does that even mean?!) or shy away when what he wants most in the world is offered to him. And right now, kissing Nikki is definitely up there and he is taking full advantage while all appendages remain intact.

Oxygen is starting to be a factor though, but he tries to stave off the inevitable, instead presses his mouth infinitesimally harder against hers, demanding more of the quiet stillness to the noise of the anger and fury in his mind only her touch (and tongue!) can provide. (Maybe, if he can just keep kissing her until the end of time, maybe he might just get through the day with just the minor cuts and bruises he's already sustained thus far.) In the end, however, it is not oxygen levels (or her fist to his face) that stops them, but the shrill ringtone from her jacket pocket.

She is out of his hold and has her back to him before he can blink. Hazily, he's aware it is Clarissa on the other end of the phone call, but he's more interested in getting Nikki back in his arms before she can totally freak out on him and he's left with worse than nothing. Coming up behind her, he rests his head on the back of her head, breathing in her unique scent. His hand comes up to rest on her hip, wanting, needing the contact, and he is more than a little surprised when she leans back and rests the smallest amount of her own weight against him in return. He's about to start to try to distract her from her phone call, when he realises he is the topic of discussion. "He's here, don't worry."

Glancing over her shoulder, he is startled to see her eyes go wide in response to whatever it is that Clarissa is telling her. Not wanting too much to be said when even he doesn't know what to say, he smoothly reaches up and plucks the phone from her unsuspecting hand. Bringing the phone to his own ear, he takes a step back before continuing the conversation himself.

"I'm fine, Clarissa."

"Jack." He hears her sign of relief, but before she can continue he is talking once more.

"Just been working off some steam." In more ways than one, but she doesn't need to know about that. He raises his eyes to Nikki's, and once the contact is made he cannot break it. Face serious, knowing the effect it will have on his tone across the line, he continues, "Let Thomas know I'll be in once I've dropped Nikki off home. Bye." Then, unceremoniously, he hangs up. There'll be hell to pay for that move later, he knows, but right now he has other concerns.

What he didn't consider (which, really, he should have) was the reaction of Nikki to his bold statement. Her eyes have gone a wonderful shade of _dark_ , her brow furrowed, and the foreboding nature should really warn him of her anger, but he is too enthralled by her to really pay attention. With a slight grin he cannot for the life of him keep from his face, he offers her the phone back, only to find himself holding back a slight wince when the force of her hand snatching it back jars his still tender one.

"Dropped me off home? What am I, some damsel in distress? I don't need you to…"

"The hell you don't!" Any amusement has gone from his tone, and his face is once more deadly serious, his eyes on the cusp of being annoyed. He sees her draw back from him slightly, and his heart stutters. He didn't mean to scare her.

"I…"

The quiet, slightly scared tone of her voice breaks something in him. Restraining his anger as much as possible (which, it turns out, is harder than he thought it would be), he implores, "No. Don't. Don't you dare stand there and tell me you don't need me. Not after…" He pauses, breathing heavily, and waves his hand around, as if she will have any idea what he means by the gesture. (Everything. He means everything.) He might have kissed her, but _she_ kissed _him_ too, and she doesn't get to pretend it never happened. Not with him, not so soon after the fact and while he can still feel the taste her on his tongue.

A horrible thought crosses his mind, and the hateful words are out before he can stop them. "Or what, was that just pity?" (Jesus, if she turns away from him now he really doesn't know what he'll do.) Unaware of just how much he's about to let slip, he continues in a mocking tone, "Poor Jack can't deal with the fact someone fucking tried to kill the woman he…" (Loves. The woman he loves. Jesus, why has it taken for them to get to this point for him to realise it?) He is interrupted before he can complete his tirade though, and he finds he is both thankful and a little mad at her for that.

"NO!" The word is forced out far stronger than he thought she would be capable of right now. Her face shows her horror of her reaction to his accusation, and he finds he is slightly placated by it. More gently now, she sighs, "Of course not."

He sighs in return, his anger pushed away once more by the helplessness he feels instead. (Why, of all the women in the world, did he have to go and fall for this one?) "Then why are you trying to push me away, huh?" Unable to stand idly by and watch as she all but falls apart in front of him, her strong façade beginning to fall away, he reaches forward to caress her cheek. He feels her drop her chin slightly to rest against his palm, and his thumb gently strokes the outline of her cheekbone. In as whisper, he asks, "What's going on, Nikki?"

Her eye line falls to his chest, and he wishes she would keep eye contact instead. Sometimes it is easier to read what is going on with her through her eyes than her words. Her voice is so quiet when she does speak, he almost misses it. "I can't lose you again."

The word _again_ throws him. When has she ever lost him? He has been there for her time after time, even to the point of saving her life. He has never left her floundering without him before. Bending down slightly, he tries to get her to meet his gaze again, but she is fixated on his chest. A small knot of worry begins to form in the pit of his stomach, but he pushes it away.

Instead, he asks, "Again? What are you taking about?" When she doesn't reply, he gives a small sigh. "C'mon, Nikki, you're not gonna lose me. Hey, I'm right here, see? I'm not going anywhere."

Trying to comfort her, feeling confident she won't shy away from his touch if the last half hour is any indication, he pulls her against him. He feels her rest her head on his chest over his heart, and he is helpless not to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. He feels her arm snake around him to his back, and tightens his own hold on her slightly in reply. They stand that way, neither speaking, for an endless moment before she mutters, "But you did. You left me, and I can't go through that again. Not again."

A roaring noise begins up in his head again, even as the little knot of fear begins to grow. (Jesus, don't let her mean what he's beginning to suspect her to mean.) Her tone has taken on a pleading quality that is cutting him to the quick. "Please, Jack, don't ask me to deal with that again."

This time, it is he who is begging. He's worried, petrified even, the knot of tension becoming a rock in his stomach. "Nikki, I swear to god, I have no idea what you're talking about. I never left you." (Right?) His muscles have begun to tighten against her again, and he tries to get himself to relax his hold, not wanting to scare her.

Then, with a sob into his chest, she breaks his heart. "But you did. You left me. Jesus, Jack, you went and fucking died on me."

He can feel her tears as she cries against him as they fall onto his bare chest as she lets go. Feeling like he's been plunged into icy water, heart and lungs frozen, his stomach a dead weight, he finally manages to gasp, "What?"

He pushes her back away from him, needing to see her face, needing to understand. (Dead. He'd been dead. What? When? How?) He sees her take a breath, trying to hold back her tears to answer the demand he knows his face is showing. Her voice is still choked up though, her words coming out in broken fits and starts. "You… that car. The one that ran you…"

He drops his hands, his mind taking him back to that cold night. The car that had appeared as if from nowhere, before the brutal beating that had followed it. He remembers it had taken him close to two months to get out of the hospital (one of which to even stay awake for more than a couple of hours at a time). And she had barely left his side the whole of that time. Goddammit, he knew there was more to the story there than she's ever told him. Stuck in the past, it takes him a moment to notice she has fallen silent. Needing more, he doesn't realise his tone has turned distant when he says, "I remember."

Her eyes still filling with tears, she brushes one away, glancing at anything but his face. Eventually, her eyes come to rest on his hands. They have stopped oozing fresh blood, but what was there before has begun to dry in dark red trails across his knuckles. He really ought to go clean them up, but this takes precedence. "You had massive internal bleeding."

He nods. "Yeah, I know. They told me."

He sees her nod. He knows she knows he knew; she'd been there when the ICU nurse had listed all his injuries to him when he'd finally woken up. Haltingly, she takes up the narrative again. "We… Thomas and me. We were finally allowed to see you, to get evidence. You looked…" she trails off, eyes dropping to the floor, and he reaches over to rest his hand on her arm again, trying to give her some support while he is still reeling. She glances up at him quickly, before her gaze slides away once more. "And then all these machines started blaring, and you were rushed into surgery. I couldn't… I didn't even…" Again, she trails off, a haunted look taking over her face.

Wanting desperately to keep her from being lost in what are obviously painful memories, he gently calls her name. "Nikki?"

Finally raising her head to meet his eyes again momentarily, his own beg her to tell him what he needs to know. She drops his gaze, and instead her confession is to the floor between them. "You crashed on the operation table." He sees her take a deep breath, before finally bringing her head up, meeting and holding his eyes with her own still tear filled ones. "It took them 98 seconds to get your heart beating again."

He had known it was coming, from the moment her halting words began. But even though he knew it was so obviously the end result, he can't help but draw back from her; his hand leaving her arm as he does so. Wanting, needing to understand how they could keep something like his own fucking death from him, he demands, "What? Why didn't you ever tell me any of this?"

(When he'd finally woken up after the attack (apparently 10 days later, seriously, what the fuck?) they'd told him all about the swelling around his brain and the punctured lung and the bruised spleen and the battered kidneys and how lucky he was to have made it through, but nowhere in all of that or the agonising stay in hospital that had followed had someone bothered to mention he'd gone and fucking died.)

Nikki is facing the floor once more, and this time he's glad she's dropped her gaze. When her muttered, "You survived. It didn't seem important," reaches him, however, he feels his anger take over once more.

"Bullshit. Didn't seem important? I died and you didn't think it would be something I might want to know?!"

He can't look at her, the fear and the pain and the anger and the sheer helplessness of it all battling it out in his head. Jesus Christ, how is he supposed to react to all of this? Whirling away from her, he spies the long forgotten punch bag. Never has he been more thankful to be in a place where he doesn't have to waste time before he can hit out at something without the feeling of guilt that so often follows. He rises his right hand, balled into a fist, fully intent on letting out all the emotions into the bag, when he is stopped by the feel of her hand on his arm. He freezes, unable to pull away from her, but unwilling to turn to face her.

"What would it change? Really, Jack, what would it have changed?"

He doesn't know if she's talking about punching the unholy shit out of the bag before him, or if he'd been told he'd died before now. He knows it doesn't really make much difference; the answer's the same. Nothing. It changes nothing. He still died. (Jesus. He died. And Nikki… holy crap. Nikki.) He feels the anger fly out of him, and his hand drops to his side once more. He stays silent though, still facing the bag.

Behind him, he hears Nikki sigh. "That's what I thought."

He sighs in response, before her name comes out more as a prayer than anything. "Nikki…"

He wants to hold her. Hold her and apologise and never let her go until she forgives him for leaving him for those 98 seconds. But before he gets a chance to say more than her name, she is turning her own torment on him. He lets her lash out at him, willing to take all her words of hurt and fury, wishing he could spare her all the pain that has lead them up to this. _"_ So don't fucking stand there and tell me I don't know what I'm talking about."

She falls silent, and he feels her pause before turning to leave. But he cannot let her out of his sight. Not now. Not after all of this. His hand is out and gently latching on to her wrist before she can take a single step. He turns to face her finally, only to see she is back to looking at the floor.

(God, what are they doing to each other?!)

On a broken sob of her name, he gives her wrist the slightest of pulls, thankful beyond belief when she falls into his waiting arms, holding her tightly against him. Ear pressed to chest over his heart (he knows what it is she is listening to now), he holds her tighter when she begs, "Don't ask me risk going through that again. Because I won't. I can't."

He feels her try to fight his hold, but he still cannot let her go. Instead, he presses a kiss to her crown, his arms minutely tightening their hold. Letting her feel the weight of his head against her own, he whispers, "Shhh."

She finally stops trying to push him away, and for that he is truly thankful. Letting her rest against him, for the first time since she arrived in the gym he notices the slight chill in the air. He really ought to get them out of here before someone comes and sees what all the fuss is about.

"I can't go through that again, Jack. I can't. I can't."

He finds himself kissing her head again at the imploring words. "Shhhh. It's OK. I'm OK." Pushing her back slightly so he can meet her eyes, he holds them for a long minute before giving her as much as a reassuring smile as he can muster in that moment. "I'm right here, see?"

She nods in return, and he sees her give a hitched sob as her eyes take him in. He's never felt more like he's been placed under a microscope before, and wonders exactly what she sees when she looks at him. Her eyes have focused on a scar down his sternum, and he sees her still. Before he can say anything however, she gently runs a finger of the pale mark. The unexpected contact of her warm finger on his vastly chilled skin makes his breath hitch, and he wonders at the quick grin his response spurs from her.

Her eyes have calmed dramatically from before, and her voice has a soft lilt to it he's never heard before. (He wants to hear it again, though. Soon. And often.) "Yeah, she breathes. "I see."

And then she's kissing him.

* * *

TBC


	7. Chapter 7: Nikki

A/N: this is for KK456, who wanted a homecoming scene. (Be careful what you wish for...)  
A/N 2: Just a heads up on a more serious note- in this chapter there is mention of an outsider's perspective from someone without all the facts, and assumptions are made. I've tried to be as gentle as I can, given the subject matter, and I hope I haven't offended anyone.

* * *

She thinks she might just be becoming addicted to the way his kisses her. She's surprisingly ok with that. She feels the press of his tongue against her mouth again, and is quite happily about to let him in when the door bangs open behind them.

"Hey, Jack, how's it… Whoa."

The sudden words freezes her, and she pulls away. Whirling around, she is met by the sight of a tall, blonde, well-muscled man. He gives them both a wink, a knowing smirk emerging on his face. She can't remember a time she has felt more embarrassed than she does right now. Feeling herself blush (honestly, she feels like a teenager!) she ducks her head down.

Behind her, Jack clears his throat a little. "Ok. This is a little… Um, Nikki, James. James, Nikki."

"Hi." She peeks up, gives him a little wave. (See? Teenager.)

"We were just…" Jack motions over his shoulder to the direction of the door.

"Right." James' smirk shows just how much he believes that. Nikki can't really blame him; she for one had been quite happy where they were.

"So we'll just…" bending down, Jack picks up his once more discarded clothes with one hand, the other still entwined with hers, (and when did that happen?!) and pulls her along with him. They push through the door into the corridor together, letting it fall close once more before they share identical slightly embarrassed looks and burst into laughter.

He quietens first. With a nod to the changing room they have stopped outside, he says, "Let me just grab my bag. Two minutes, yeah?"

She nods in response, and turns to rest her weight against the wall. She sees him pause outside the door, glancing over to her again. Before she can blink, he is back in front of her. "What…?"

"Here." He reaches up and rearranges her all but forgotten scarf across her neck, hiding her marks from view once more. Holding her gaze for another moment, he nods. "Won't be long." And then he is gone, and she left there, leaning against the wall, suddenly feeling very alone and exposed in the corridor.

She brings her hand up to gently massage the bruises under her scarf where they have begun to ache again, (the painkillers she had taken back at the Lyell beginning to wear off) the slightest tendrils of fear and doubt setting in now she is alone with her thoughts. Because what if Jack was only being like this now because he felt guilty? What if he realised, now she's no longer beside him, what a betrayal she had committed, and finds it's too much? What if he leaves her after all? What if he…

Her thoughts are interrupted by the reappearance of the trainer she's just been embarrassingly introduced to. Dropping her hand to her side (not wanting to draw attention to where it had been), she smiles a greeting, only for it to be dropped when he doesn't smile back.

"Hi. James, right?"

He nods, face serious. "Look. I know it's not really my business, but I saw…" he gestures towards her throat, and she freezes. "Anyway. No matter what you feel for the guy, he shouldn't be doing that to you. I know you seemed all fine in there," he points to the work out room, "but that's no excuse to…"

"What?" A horrible realisation dawns. "Ja- You think JACK did this?"

"I know he has a temper on him. But that doesn't mean he should take it out on you."

"You… Are you serious?! He didn't…" She is standing up straight now, anger and defiance in her gaze. (How dare he suggest…)

But James continues. "Look, my sister had a real tough time of it. I know it can be hard. And you might not like what I'm saying…"

"Because it's ludicrous! Jack didn't…"

"But help's out there, if, _when_ , you need it. Anyway, here..." she finds a business card being thrust into her hand. Reflexively, she looks down, eyes skimming it. James keeps talking though, and her attention flies back to him as words filter through her shock. "…Specialises in domestic abuse."

She gasps, immediately trying to give the card back. "I told you, I don't need…"

"I know what I saw." He motions to the card. "Look, just keep it, alright? And don't be afraid to call. She's very good."

"Who's very good?" Jack's voice from behind her startles her; she hadn't even heard him approach. Shoving the card into her pocket next to her phone, she turns, an overly bright smile on her face. "One of the personal trainers here. James is trying to get me signed up."

Jack gives her a searching look, and she knows she has to move this along before he can suspect anything. With a nod to his now fully clothed form and the bag hanging loosely from his at least rinsed cleaned if not bandaged hand, she asks, "Ready to go?"

Jack gives a slow nod in return, before glancing up at James behind her. "Thanks."

James gives a nod back, before making eye contact with her again, his gaze hard. "Think about it, yeah?"

Before she can tell him again she doesn't need any help, he turns and walks back into the gym. They watch him go, Jack's face slightly puzzled. Wanting to put off any questioning for as long as she can (indefinitely, if possible) she reaches for him with one hand, the other delving into her coat pocket for her keys. "C'mon."

Exiting the building, she sees him eyeing her keys she has produced for a second, before shaking his head. "Nope. I meant what I said earlier. I'm taking you home."

Instantly, she's protesting. "But… What about my car?"

Jack glances at her, then between their two cars. Evidently coming to a decision, he nods. "Ok. You drive." He moves to stand next to her passenger door, motioning for her to unlock the door.

She points to his car. "What about yours?"

"I'll get a taxi or something back for it later."

"But…"

"Nikki." He moves to stand in front of her, face serious. "I'm taking you home. You can either drive there yourself or let me drive you, but if you think I'm letting you out of my sight after what happened yesterday for the foreseeable future…" he breaks off, giving a small shake of his head.

She's shocked by the look on his face. "But, you told Clarissa you'd go back to work after…"

"I know. I lied." He gives her a shrug and a quick grin. "She'll get over it. Now," he motions between the two cars, "who's driving?"

Nikki glances over both their cars, before her fist closes more firmly around her keys. "I am."

Jack gives her a grin, and she begins to feel more like herself than she had since he had first caught sight of her bruises at the lab earlier that morning. Unlocking the doors, she waits until they are both seated before turning the ignition over. Jack instantly reaches for her radio, and she shoots him a glare. She has shared enough car journeys with him over the years to know what might happen if he turns it on. "No singing."

He smiles back innocently. "Scout's honour."

She snorts. "Yeah, like you were ever in the scouts…"

"How dare you. I'll have you know, I was a proud member of the scouts for a very long time." She looks at him in disbelief. "Ok. Maybe a month. A week." She raises an eyebrow, holding back a smile as he finally admits, "Ok, fine, a day, and they kicked me out."

She cannot help the quiet snicker of laughter that bursts out. Jack gives a mock sigh in return. Motioning to the road before them, he demands resignedly, "Just drive."

He lasts five minutes before he starts drumming along on her dashboard to the beat of the songs on the radio. It's still better than his truly atrocious singing, however, so she doesn't say anything. But as the drumming continues for the next few miles, she does give him a pointed every chance she gets until he stills his fingers. "Sorry."

The quiet in the car lasts another few minutes, and she begins to wish she'd let him continue with his drum solo; at least it didn't make the air in the car feel quite so oppressive. Trying desperately not to let him see how the silence is begging to get to her, she starts humming along to the next tune that comes on. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him give her an appraising look.

Before she can work out what it means, he dramatically joins in with the chorus. Badly. " _Ain't no mountain high enough! Ain't no valley low enough! Ain't no river wide enough to stop me from getting to you babe_."

She can't help it; she bursts out laughing, the tension in the air evaporating. "Oh my god. Stop."

His smile is more genuine now, even as he mangles his way through the next verse, before his face falls sombre. Nodding towards the radio, he says, "It's true, y'know."

The seriousness in his tone sobers her. Stopping at a red light, she takes the opportunity to study the man sat next to her, thinking back to all the times he has come through the lowest of odds. Hell, even death hadn't stopped him from coming back (to her) in the end. He doesn't break her gaze when she finally meets it, and she finds herself nodding at his assertion. "I know."

The car behind them gives a beep, and she turns back to see the light has turned green. With an apologetic wave, she pulls forward once more. They spend the rest of the journey trading sly glances at each other, trying not to get caught. But she can tell when his eyes are on hers; the heat behind his stare warming her. Her next attempt at her own subtle glance fails miserably, however, when she is met by his intense gaze.

She blushes, turning back to the road, determined not to look his way again. Another ten minutes, and she is pulling into her parking space outside her flat. Turning to look at him, she nods back towards the front door, suddenly feeling shy. "Do you want to…?"

"I'm coming in." His no nonsense tone should annoy her, but she finds this time she's just grateful. Leading him through the main door and down the hallway to her own front door, she pauses outside it, fumbling with her keys, an unexpected nervousness taking over her.

"Hey." His sure hands reach out from behind her, plucking her keys from her shaking hands and smoothly settling it in the lock. "It's just me."

She gives an embarrassed laugh, shaking her head at her own… what? Stupidity? Weakness? Taking a deep breath, she pushes the door open, feeling him follow her inside. Suddenly desperate to put a little space between them, she quickly shrugs off her coat and scarf, heading towards the kitchen, thankful when he doesn't immediately follow her.

"I'll make us some coffee."

Boiling the kettle, she pulls two mugs down from the cupboard before her hand goes to her jeans pocket searching for her phone, intending to call Thomas to explain apparently neither of them will be in the rest of the day after all, before remembering she had put it in her coat pocket earlier. Calling out into the hallway, she asks, "Hey Jack? Grab me my phone, would you?"

She hears him muttering to himself as he rustles in her pocket, but when he falls silent and doesn't immediately appear, she wanders out into the hall searching for him. What she sees there freezes her. He has her phone in one hand, but his eyes are trained on his other. Specifically, on the business card he's also pulled out from where she had stashed in that pocket in her hurry to hide it from him earlier.

His eyes full of confusion and a little bit of hurt, he eventually meets her gaze. "Why do you have… where did you get this?"

She knows better than to lie to him. Besides, it's not like she needs it; she'd already forgotten it was even there. "James. He thought…" She trails off, the implication clear without her needing to voice it.

His blinks, his eyes filling with anger and pain. "But you put him right, yeah?"

She nods, then shrugs. "I tried. He didn't…"

When she trails off, he asks, "What? Believe you?"

Nikki shakes her head helplessly. "I…"

Jack looks down, his own hurt radiating off him in waves. This is why she didn't tell him. She knew how he'd react. "Jesus Christ. That's what he meant, isn't it?" He looks up at her, sudden understanding in his gaze. "At the gym. When I came out and you two were… Fuck."

He turns away from her, fist coiling around the small piece of card, and she instantly reaches for his hands. At her touch, he glances at her neck, the pain and hurt on his face bringing tears to her eyes. "He thought I did…" he waves in the general direction of her neck, "that to you."

"I…" she sobs, her heart feeling like its breaking with this pain on his face, unable to find the words to bring him back from whatever brink he has found himself on.

"Save it." The cold, hard words scare her more than any physical power he had shown her he had earlier.

"But…"

"I cannot fucking believe this." He breaks her hold on him, leaving her feeling bereft.

"Jack. Please."

"Here." He presses her phone into her hand, and she reflexively looks down at it. Apparently, it's all the time he needs to leave.

She lets out a quick curse as the door slams behind him.

* * *

TBC.


	8. Chapter 8: Jack

A/N: I feel a little odd saying this, given what's in this chapter but, Happy Valentine's day.

* * *

Kissing Nikki, he decides, if fast becoming his favourite pastime. One hand gently cradling the back of her head, he lets his tongue trace her mouth once more, begging for entry. Before this kiss can go any further however, he hears the door behind him crash open.

"Hey Jack, how's it … Whoa."

Instantly feeling the loss as she pulls away, he silently curses James for interrupting what was turning out to be a pretty fine kiss. James is giving them a knowing smirk, and he wants to be angry at him for it, but is feeling too happy right now to really let his ire show. Sensing Nikki's sudden embarrassment, he tries to save some face. Clearing his throat slightly, he nods in her direction. "Ok, this is a little… Um, Nikki, James. James, Nikki."

"Hi." The small wave she gives him is sicking cute, and he wants nothing more than to kiss her again, and that realisation appals him. (Seriously, what is he, a pubescent girl?!)

Wanting to get them somewhere more private than the gym, he uses the unwanted interruption to his advantage. "We were just…"

Ignoring James' knowing grin and sarcastic, "Right..." he grabs Nikki's hand, spying his shirt on the floor. Bending down, he scoops it up, motioning to the door behind him. "So we'll just…"

With a slight tug to her hand, he pulls her with him out of the room. They share identical embarrassed looks, before the hilarity of the situation hits him, and he bursts into laughter. He hasn't felt like this since he was a teenager, getting caught making out behind the bins instead of being in class. The sudden melancholic thought quietens him, and he spends a moment watching her in the throes of her own merriment before she too quietens.

Glancing at the door to the changing room behind him, he gives her a nod. "Let me just grab my bag. Two minutes, yeah?"

She nods in reply, but as she turns to rest against the wall, his eyes are drawn to the way her scarf is now loosely hanging around her neck, allowing the dark bruising to be seen. Walking back to her, he pulls the material back into place, doing so more for her than him. Satisfied, he gives her one last longing look, before turning and disappearing into the changing room.

Glancing down at his hands, he gives a rueful shake of his head. Striding over to the sink area, he turns the tap on, letting his hands fall under the warming water. Watching the once dried blood wash away down the sink, he finally gets a good look at what damage he has managed to inflict on himself. Satisfied it isn't serious enough to warrant more than simple first aid, he turns the tap off.

Patting his hands dry with paper towels, not wanting fibres from his towel getting in to the deeper cuts, he heads back to his bag. Pulling out the antiseptic cream he's taken to carrying around with him in his gym bag (this hasn't been the first time he's gone at a punch bag bare fisted) he applies a thin layer to them all, and wishing he still had some butterfly strip bandages for the deepest of the cuts; the rest being superficial enough to probably go without.

Eyeing the shower area longingly, wishing he had enough time, he instead pulls out the shirt he had exchanged for his work out top earlier, giving it a quick snap to try to smooth out the creases that have formed. Giving it up as a lost cause, he slips it on and his jacket over the top, before pushing his towel and work out top into the bag, fastening it closed.

Quickly checking to make sure he still has his phone, wallet and keys, he pushes the door open to see Nikki and James having what appeared to be a very serious conversation. Approaching them, he hears James assert, "She's very good," and his interest is piqued.

"Who's very good?"

The way Nikki jumps at his words makes him feel slightly guilty for startling her, but the overly bright smile she gives him when she turns around makes it dissipate into something more like fear. Just what, exactly, had they been talking about?

"One of the personal trainers here. James is trying to get me signed up," she says, and he doesn't for one minute believe her. (And not just because, unless there's a new employee he doesn't know about, all the trainers at this gym are male.) But he doesn't let on he knows she's talking crap, hoping she'll come clean once they get away from the place. Besides, confronting her now will surely just undo all the good that has happened in the last hour. (And he'd quite like to keep the good times going, because he doubts very much he'll be able to kiss her again if he makes her mad.)

She nods to the hand holding his bag, and asks, "Ready to go?"

He nods in return, giving James a quiet, "Thanks." over her shoulder. James nods, his face an unreadable mask, before turning back to Nikki. There is something Jack's still not quite seeing there, and the, "Just think about it, yeah?" James throws her way only helps to increase that feeling of dread that's developing in his stomach again.

Before he can ask though, Nikki has taken his hand, pulling him slightly towards the exit. At her, "C'mon," he lets himself be dragged away. Exiting into the cold air (but hey, he realises, at least it's stopped raining!) he eyes the keys she's produced warily. If he lets her drive away separately, he knows there is a real chance of them equivalently taking two steps back from the one they've most definitely taken forward by the time they reach any destination, and he's not willing to risk it.

With a shake of his head, he points to her keys. "Nope. I meant what I said earlier. I'm taking you home."

"But… What about my car?"

He sighs, glancing over at her car before over to his and back again. He really doesn't want to leave her alone again, not so soon after everything that's just come out into the open. Making a decision, (he can always come back for his car later) he moves to stand by her passenger door. "Ok, you drive." He gives her a wave, waiting for her to unlock the doors so he can get in.

Instead, she points to his. "What about yours?"

He shrugs, uncaringly. "I'll get a taxi back for it later or something."

"But…"

He sighs. "Nikki." Evidently, she isn't getting it. Moving to stand in front of her, he makes sure her eyes meet his before he tells her, "I'm taking you home. You can either drive there yourself or let me drive you, but if you think I'm letting you out of my sight after what happened yesterday for the foreseeable future…" He trails off, the rest of his meaning clear in the unstated words.

He sees her waiver for a moment, obviously recalling what he'd said during his accosted phone call. "But you told Clarissa you'd go back to work after…"

He shrugs. "I know. I lied." He gives a slight grin, certain he'll get more than an earful from his friend when she realises he's decided to play hooky. The feistiness of her is one of the reasons they have been friends for as long as they have; she can always give as good as she gets, and isn't afraid to do so. "She'll get over it." (He might have to actually take her to a Michelin starred restaurant, but it'll be worth it if it means Nikki's safe.) Turning back to the matter at hand, he waves his hand in the air to indicate the two cars. "Now, who's driving?"

He watches as she gives each car a glance, before her fist closes around her keys once more. "I am," she tells him, the look on his face daring him to stop her again, but he doesn't, instead just shoots her a grin. He can tell the Nikki he knows (the strong, independent, feisty one; not the weak falling-apart-at-the-seams one he so rarely gets to see) is taking back control, and he loves it. (Hell, he loves both versions, but the strong one challenges him in a way no other woman (except maybe Clarissa) has ever done, and he likes that. (So what does that say about him, anyway?))

Settling in to the passenger seat, he waits until she has switched the engine on before reaching for the radio, eager to find a station they can both listen to without it driving one of them insane (a surprisingly hard task, he's learnt over the years.) Before he can reach the tuning dial, he is stopped by the feel of her glare. Raising an eyebrow in question, she tells him sternly, "No singing."

That she is feeling strong enough to start making demands of him thrills him, and he shoots her a little grin. "Scouts honour."

She snorts in response. "Yeah, like you were ever in the scouts."

He ups the ante, mock hurt and offence colouring his tone as he responds. "How dare you. I'll have you know, I was a proud member of the scouts for a very long time." The look she gives him tells him she doesn't believe a word of it. He sighs. "Ok. Maybe a month. A week," he corrects, adding a fake pout to the act. She raises an eyebrow, and he can see a smile flirting around the corner of her mouth. With a feigned put out sigh, he eventually admits, "Ok, fine, a day, and they kicked me out."

She lets out a quick snicker of laughter at that, and his heart feels lightened. Whatever it was that had her acting all cagey around him earlier has evidently been forgotten (by her, at any rate). Wanting to keep the jovial mood up, he gives a mock sigh in return. Motioning to the road before them, he demands resignedly, "Just drive."

He lasts five minutes of cheesy eighties hit after cheesy eighties hit (seriously, is there nothing modern on this station?!) before he needs to distract himself from the air between them that's becoming stilted. When the next song begins, he starts his own drum solo across the dashboard. He manages to continue on with the next song, and the one after that before she starts sending him death glares. He'd like to point out at least he isn't singing, but it's started raining again and he doesn't want to be kicked out of the car. Instead, giving her a sheepish look, he mutters, "Sorry," stilling his hands.

They travel the next few minutes in silence, and he can feel the air become thick with tension again. Not quite knowing how to break it, he's shocked out of his thoughts when she starts humming along to the next song that comes on to the radio.

There has always been an unwritten rule between them during car journeys (totally her idea); if he can't sing, she won't hum. That she has taken to breaking her own rule means he is no longer bound by it either, and he breaks into a smile, before joining in with the chorus. Loudly. With arm actions and everything that almost collide with her arm on the steering wheel. " _Ain't no mountain high enough! Ain't no valley low enough! Ain't no river wide enough to stop me from getting to you babe_."

The sheer over-exuberant display has the effect it hopes it would; she bursts out laughing, all the tension between them disappearing. "Oh my god. Stop."

He continues his antics along with the next verse, complete with imaginary microphone. Really, it's a wonder they don't crash. As the chorus starts up again, he falls quiet, the words he's just so emphatically delivered echoing in his head repeating themselves. When she turns to him at his abrupt stillness, he nods his head towards the radio. "It's true, you know?"

She pauses, studying him as they wait for a red light, before giving him a small smile in response. "I know."

He wants to reach across the centre console and kiss her again (and is in fact reaching for her to do just that) when the car behind them gives an impatient beep on their horn. Giving a wave, Nikki pulls forward again, and he resettles himself in his seat, trying not to let the disappointment show on his face. As they continue on, he gives in to his desire, and starts steeling quick glances of her profile when she isn't looking; feeling the heat of her gaze when she does the same.

Facing her for longer than he had previously dared to, he is met by her own gaze when she tries to take her own subtle look once more. The blush that covers her cheeks when she realises she has been caught looking is surprising, and it makes him grin like a fool. He gets away with it when she determinedly doesn't look at him again for the rest of the journey.

Eventually, they reach the car park of her flat, but when she doesn't immediately move to exit the car herself he stills. Finally, she turns to look at him, asking, "Do you want to…"

"I'm coming in," he tells her. (Seriously, when is she going to get that he meant it when he said he wasn't letting her out of his sight? (The fact she's recently been attacked at home is also slightly praying on his conscience, even if he's not going to tell her that.)) Following her inside the main door, he pauses outside her flat while she struggles with her keys. When the shaking continues however, he steps forward.

"Hey," he sooths, pulling the keys from her hands, inserting them into the lock for her. "It's just me." She gives an embarrassed laugh as he does so, slightly shaking her head. Standing back, he lets her enter her flat first, allowing her to regain some sort of control. Following in behind her, he stops to pull off his jacket, fishing his phone out as he does so.

There's a few missed calls from Clarissa, and he feels slightly guilty he has yet to really speak to her after bolting out of the Lyell centre earlier. He hears Nikki say something about coffee, and then the click of the kettle and the bustle of porcelain as she fusses in the kitchen.

Finishing his text, apologising for his behaviour, he hears a muttered curse, then Nikki call out to him, "Hey Jack, grab me my phone, would you?"

He spots her coat where she has let it fall under the scarf she's been wearing all day, and with a mutter to himself about how she can't even come out the few yards to pick it up herself, starts rifling through her pockets. His hand close around two things, and he brings them both out. One is her phone, but his attention is grabbed by the business he's pulled out along with it.

The card itself is unremarkable in its design. Simple, black, with white lettering in a no nonsense professional font. But it is the "Solicitors of Domestic Abuse and Family Law" under the unfamiliar name that has his blood freezing in his veins, and he is transfixed.

Hearing her entering the hallway, he holds up the card for Nikki to see. "Why do you have…? Where did you get this?"

He watches as she takes in the little rectangle of card he's holding, her eyes going wide. "James. He thought…" she trails off, and he is suddenly horrified. It was only once they had escaped into the hallway of the gym that he had fixed the position of her scarf. James must have seen the bruising, and had flashed to the wrong conclusion.

Feeling himself fill with anger and a little bit of hurt that his friend could think so little of him, he begs, "But you put him right, yeah?"

Nikki nods, and he feels himself start to relax until she shrugs. "I tried," she tells him, "he didn't…"

"What? Believe you?" A roaring has begun to take up space in his head again.

He sees Nikki shake her head. "I…"

Jack looks down, processing the event of the day in a new light. The way Nikki had been acting since the gym. The way James hadn't really met his eye. The business card, apparently from James himself. It all boils down to one sickening realisation. "Jesus Christ. That's what he meant, isn't it?" He looks up at her, the puzzle pieces falling into place. "At the gym. When I came out and you two were… Fuck."

He's going to be sick. Of all the things to be accused of, even in such a roundabout way… He thought James would know him better than to suspect he'd ever hit out at a woman. Yes, he has a temper, and yes, it's gotten him into trouble in the past, but against Nikki? Attempt to strangle _Nikki_?! No. Never. He'd sooner go ten rounds with Mike Tyson.

His hand has unknowingly coiled around the card he still holds, and he feels her reach out and try to uncurl it. He snatches his hand away from her, unable to stop the pain and hurt from showing on his face as he once more traces the bruising on her neck with his gaze. Feeling utterly heartbroken, he waves a hand in their general direction, managing to rasp, "He thought I did that to you."

"I…" she sobs, her hand reaching for him again, but he is deaf and numb to both, his mind trapped in a loop of horror and pain. He needs to get out of here.

"Save it." The words are cold and hard, but he doesn't realise it. He's too lost.

"But…"

"I cannot fucking believe this." Finally noticing her hand is still lying on his, he pulls away, breaking her hold on him. (God, how can she even stand to see the sight of him right now if his own friend could think him capable of…?)

"Jack. Please."

"Here." He presses her phone into her hand, before turning and all but running away, the door slamming shut behind him. Uncaring for the tears he can feel building in his eyes, he leaves her flat complex, the once again falling rain chilling him.

With a last pain filled look at her door, he turns and walks away.

* * *

TBC

A/N: You guys still with me? I promise there'll be puppies and chocolates and fluffiness soon. (Well. Maybe not puppies. Or chocolate. And I can't give a timeline on soon… but I do intend this to end on a note of hope, not despair. It's just… things were never going to go smoothly with them. That'd be far too easy.)


	9. Chapter 9: Nikki

A/N: So I wrote this chapter over the course of the last few days, and was just going over it one last time before posting when I realised I really didn't like it. The flow was all wrong and it seems disjointed, and yeah. Not good. So I change it. A lot. There might be 10% of the original left. Hence the delay. So I'm sorry. Hopefully the end result make up for it. Thanks for being patient with me.

* * *

She follows him out the door. (Of course she does.) She's not about to let him leave thinking she thinks he could in any way shape or form harm her because she knows, _she knows_ , he wouldn't. (Despite his earlier assertion that she doesn't know what he's capable of, in this she is sure.)

As close as she was behind him however, now there is no sign. (Seriously, what is he? A magician?!) Rain has begun to fall again, and she briefly considers rushing on as she is, but common sense prevails. There is no point in her risking illness by chasing after him for however long it takes to track him down, (because she will, even if it takes her all day!) dressed as she is in just her blouse.

A quick detour back inside for her coat, she is back on the street minutes later. She knows he is traveling light (his bag was still propped up in her hallway), but she hopes he has at least had the foresight to keep his phone on him. Quickly dialling his number, she hurries left out of her car park, towards the nearest shopping area. If he wants to hide from her, he'll head towards a crowd; it's easier to be lost amongst the throng of people than to be spotted alone on the pavement.

The phone call goes unanswered, and so leaves a hurried voicemail. "Jack. It's Nikki. Where are you?! I need to explain… Look, I'm sorry about James. He said something about a sister, and I tried. I swear I tried to tell him you wouldn't do that. I know you wouldn't do that. But he wouldn't… Look. Call me back. Please, Jack. I'm worried about you. Even if it's just to let me know you're ok."

Hanging up, she realises she has come to the start of the street market being held today, the stalls filling the road between the established shops on either side. Ducking into the doorway of the first shop on the street, she stops to think.

While crowded, there are less people here than she would have thought there would be (the rain obviously keeping shoppers indoors). There are still enough people to pose a problem for her to spot Jack easily, however. She gives his phone another try, but again it rings through until is only met by a robotic voice informing her that her call cannot be connected, and to leave a message. With a sigh, she does so again, this one more to the point. "Jack. Call me."

She sends him a text as well for good measure, the two words to the point. _Call me!_ (He obviously has signal if it's rung through to voicemail and she hasn't been directed straight there (which means he might be screening her calls. This hurts more than she's prepared to admit.)) She waits, giving him a few minutes respond. When her phone remains stubbornly silent, she gives a quiet curse. (Of all the men in the world, she had to go and fall for this one. What is she, glutton for punishment?)

Deciding to give the street market a miss after all, (even if he was still there the likelihood of her being able to spot him in the crowd is minimal at best) she turns and heads back towards her flat, feeling utterly dejected. She tries his number again, more out of hope than expectation, but again it goes unanswered. This time she doesn't leave a message (because what's the point?).

She feels the despair begin to overwhelm her again. Jack's vanishing act is all her fault. If only she'd checked she had her phone. If only she'd managed to convince James she was ok. If only she'd given the stupid business card that started this whole mess off back. If only Jack had let her explain. If only he'd stop running away from her. If only they could actually talk to each other. If only…

Rounding the corner of her complex, still berating herself for letting the situation get so completely out of control that she has no idea how to fix it before having to face the others at work, (God, it'll be a miracle if Clarissa will ever speak to her again after all this) she stops short at the sight that greets her on the buildings doorstep, unable to hold in the gasp. "Jack? Oh my god."

She hadn't stopped to think that when he had ran out of her door earlier he had already taken off his jacket, nor had she noticed it when she had returned for her own. Hurrying towards his slumped figure as he rests his weight against the door now though, she is suddenly very aware that all he has had in defence against the elements is his shirt and jeans; both of which are now soaked through. The way his hair is plastered to his head and the slight tinge of blue to his lips and the violent shivering he seems unable to control only add to the picture of misery before her.

Grabbing his hand, almost balking from the sheer iciness of his skin, she opens the door, leading him back to her flat. The almost docile way he follows her lead scares her almost as much as the dead look in his eye as he does so. She's not even sure he knows she's actually there until he lets out a soft, "Sorry."

She shakes her head at him, letting out a soft sigh as she does so. "C'mon. You need to get dry and warmed up or you'll catch a chill."

Teeth chattering (at least his body can still attempt to create body heat itself), she leads him into her living room, eventually dropping his hand, nodding back to the doorway. "Wait here a minute. I'll get you a towel."

Stopping by her airing cupboard, she cannot help the sigh that escapes. The ways in which he can hurt himself never cease to worry her, but this one is a new one for her. She knows how to deal with his fights and excessive work outs, but she's never had to deal with him running out in the rain from her before. She's still not sure if she's the right person to help him through it either, but the thought of leaving his care to someone else (even Clarissa) doesn't even cross her mind.

With a rueful shake of her head, she grabs the thickest towel she sees, returning to her living room to see he has at least started on trying to get his sodden clothes off. His hands are still shaking, his fingers appearing clumsy and uncoordinated, and she hurries to him to help. Placing the towel on the arm of her sofa, she starts fighting with the buttons on his shirt, managing to eventually get the top few undone. Giving up on the rest of the resilient wet fabric, she simply reaches round and helps him pull the soaking shirt over his head, before wrapping the towel around him tightly.

Automatically her hands start to chafe the material over his arms trying to get him warm. She is stopped when he pulls the material tighter against his torso, his eyes, now at least no longer dead but still unreadable, holding hers for a moment before dropping away. Feeling abashed, her own gaze drops, landing on the soaked though material of his jeans.

She knows in order for him to warm up he needs to get out of all his wet clothes, and her hands fall to his belt. She has managed to wrestle the wet leather through the cold metal clasp before she feels his hands grip her wrists tightly, stilling her motions. Raising her eyes to his, she is met with a deep intense gaze.

"I can manage," he tells her, voice dark and with a hint of… something that she can't quite identify. (But she wants to, oh, does she want to.)

She nods, turning away from him to give him a modicum of privacy. Her wandering eyes fall on the mugs she still has out on the kitchen counter from earlier, and she nods in their direction. "I'll just…"

Stepping away from him, she switches on the kettle, before giving him a cursory glance out the corner of her eye. He has seemingly won the battle with his wet jeans, and they are now lying next to his shirt on the floor, along with his socks which he has evidently also diacarded. Knowing she hasn't got anything close to his size for him to wear instead, she heads over to the discarded clothes, pointing over her shoulder as she does so.

"I'll put these in the dryer for you."

"Thanks." His voice has still yet to return to normal, and it worries her. Before she can say anything though she seems him track his eyes over her own (until now ignored) wet clothes. "You should get out of your jeans too."

There is a beat of silence before he seems to realise what he's said, and he blushes. If she wasn't doing the same thing, she might have called him on it. Suddenly the air between them is awkward for a completely different reason. "I mean, uh, because they're wet. From the rain. You should take them off. Change. You should change. I, uh…"

Finally taking pity on him (because seriously, how is she supposed to cope when he's acting like he is?) she nods. Hearing the kettle begin to boil, she nods towards it. "OK. I'll go change. You get coffee duty."

He gives her a quick, "Yes, ma'am," as she passes him on the way to the bedroom, and she stops, turning to give him a glare. He has his head down, however, appearing to be deeply involved in making their coffees while keeping the towel in place. Giving a shake of her head, she continues on down the hallway to her bedroom.

Not wanting to leave him alone with his thoughts for too long, she quickly changes out of her own wet jeans, changing them instead for a dry set. Bundling up the wet demin, she returns to the kitchen, placing her jeans in the dryer with the clothes he's already placed there. Closing the door and switching the machine on, she turns to see he has found a comfortable position on her sofa, warm cup of coffee in his hand.

Picking her own mug up from the counter, she takes a grateful sip before taking a seat next to him. Finding his hand with hers, she gives it a gentle squeeze. When she feels him squeeze back in response, she sighs. Air filled with tension again, she turns to look at him.

"We really need to talk."

* * *

A/N: Ok. I know this isn't exactly fluff. But it does involve an all-but-naked Jack in Nikki's living room… after she's helped him undress… does that in any way make up for making you wait for this chapter?


	10. Chapter 10: Jack

A/N: Sorry for the delay, folks. And thanks to all those who leave me messages of encouragement that I can't respond to directly.

* * *

It takes him five minutes, or the equivalent of a hurried jog around her block, for his self-deprecating anger to subside enough to realise what a mistake he's made by running out. Ducking into the service alley behind her building, he lets his frustration out in a low growl, scrubbing his hands through his now wet hair, suddenly realising what a predicament he's in.

The cool rain filled London air that felt so good on his skin when he first left her flat has now started to soak through his shirt. In his haste to get away, he hadn't stopped to grab anything, had just wanted to leave. Which means he's now stranded, miles from home or work or his own car, with nothing more than the clothes on his back. Even his phone wallet and keys are back inside her entryway where he has left them in his bag.

His brother had always told him one day his temper would get him into trouble; he just never would have thought that this was the trouble it would result in. Then again, it was essentially over a girl (not that he'd ever call Nikki a girl), so who knows. Maybe he did.

Leaning against the back wall, trying to use its height for a little shelter from the never ending rain that is so fitting to his mood right now, he starts to think through what feasible options he has. With no wallet he has no money, so getting a taxi or bus or the tube is out of the question. Nor does he have his phone, so cannot even call for help. (Even if he was manage to borrow someone else's, he doesn't know anyone's number by rote. One of the downsides of the digital age.)

Which, as far as he can see, leaves him with four possible options. He weighs them up in his mind.

Option one is to walk home. Pros: no one else will have to know about what an utter clusterfuck he's made of the whole sorry situation. Cons: He has no jacket and it's raining. It's also miles away. He has no keys to get inside once he does get there. He'll have to break in. He might get arrested for breaking in. He'll then have to explain why he's breaking in to his own home. Everyone will then know what a complete mess he's made. Not to mention on the walk home he'll probably develop hypothermia. He'll definitely end up worrying/hurting Nikki.

Option two is to walk to his car. Pros: it's closer than home. Cons: It's at James' gym. James really doesn't like him at the moment, and might 'try to defend Nikki's honour'. (Read; beat him to a bloody pulp.) The gym is still miles away, and he still has no coat or keys. He'll still have to break in and then hot wire his car. He still might get arrested. He'll still probably get Hypothermia. Will still end up worrying/hurting Nikki.

Option three is to walk back to work. Pros: he has a change of clothes there. Doesn't need a key to get inside. Cons: It's further away than either his home or his car. Clarissa will probably skin him alive. Thomas might even help. Rain. No coat. Hypothermia. Nikki.

Option four: Go back inside to Nikki and beg forgiveness. Pros: Will be able to apologise to Nikki. Cons: She might have realised he's not worth the effort and doesn't want anything to do with him, ever again.

He gives a sigh, and a rueful shake of his head, knowing there really is only one option. There is no way he's going to leave here with Nikki thinking anything about this situation is her fault. (Of course it all comes back to her.) Stepping away from the wall, he finds the rain has started to fall more heavily now, and it only solidifies his decision. Leaving the somewhat shelter of the service alley, he hunches his shoulders against the cold, biting wind, trying to keep as little of his waning body heat from escaping as possible. Both his shirt and jeans are soaked through now, and he cannot stop the shivers that are wracking his body.

Arriving back at her front door, it still takes him a minute to build up the courage to actually buzz her flat. (God, he's so pathetic.) When there is no immediate answer, he does it again. This time, he waits a minute, but when there is still no answer, he shakes his head. Knowing her like he does, especially after he ran out on her like he did, she's probably out looking for him. That thought does nothing to help his guilt. A small tug at the front door reminds him that life is not like TV or the movies; he cannot simply enter the building to knock on her front door itself. And there is no clichéd person coming out of their flat whom he can utilise for access. Great.

Turing around, he rests his head against the door for a moment, eyes closed and still shivering, trying to come up with another plan, when he heads a soft, "Jack? Oh my god."

Opening his eyes, he sees Nikki hurrying towards him, a look of complete desolation in her eyes. It's enough to make his own shame come rushing back at him, and he hangs his head, hiding from her gaze. Of all the things he deserves right now, her care is not one of them. It appears she hasn't had that memo though, and he feels her grab his hand in hers, pulling him inside with her.

He's too cold to really put up a fight (and really, isn't being let in what he wanted not five minutes ago?) and lets her pull him along, almost childlike. When she stops outside her door, giving him a searching look, he realises he has yet to say anything to her since she found him on the doorstep. "Sorry."

It doesn't even begin to cover what he wants to say to her, but at least it's a start. He's about to try to say more when she gives her own soft sigh. Opening the door, she pulls him inside, saying, "C'mon. You need to get dry and warm or you'll catch a chill."

He shucks his shoes off and lets himself be led into her living room, before she drops his hand. Feeling his teeth chatter uncontrollably (Jesus, when did he get so cold?!) he stares around him blankly as if it had been months since he was last in her flat, not minutes. She nods her head back towards the doorway. "Wait here a minute, I'll get you a towel."

He wants to say thank you, wants to say sorry, wants to say so many things, but he cannot form a full thought, never mind get the words out. The warmth of her flat is beginning to seep into his skin, and he can feel the blood flow returning to his fingers with a tingling sensation. Knowing he needs to get out of his wet clothes if he doesn't want to succumb to hypothermia (which, even now he might be in the early stages of), he starts fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

He hears her return, seeing her place a thick towel on the arm of her sofa out of the corner of his eye, before she is standing before him again. When her hands come up to help him with the stubborn buttons, he lets his own fall away, allowing her more nimble fingers take over.

(Later, when he thinks back about this whole situation, he will be shocked by the docile way in which he lets her take over in all but stripping him. But in that moment all he is concerned about is getting out of the wet fabric and dry.)

She manages to get the first few buttons of his shirt undone, and then simply reaches behind him, pulling his shirt free from his jeans. Realising her intent, he helps her pull the sodden material up and over his head, feeling the thick terrycloth of the towel wrap around him in its place. She starts to chafe the towel slightly over his arms, but he wants the cocoon of warmth the towel is offering more, and so pulls it tighter around his now bare torso. (It also has the added benefit of hiding him from her gaze, and geez, could he be more pathetic right now?)

She drops her arms at the movement, and he doesn't know what to make of the situation he now finds himself in. Giving her a deep look, he tries to work out from her face what it is she wants from him. She drops her gaze before he can read her though, her hands falling to his belt.

He's not going to lie. There has been (many) times, especially in the last year or so, when he might have thought (briefly) about what it might be like for her to undress him. (He's a guy, and she's, well. There are no real words to describe what she is to him.) Of all those times, not one of them was because he'd run away from her into the rain in fear and despair, after being accused of beating her up.

Feeling her undo the buckle, (God, what is she trying to do to him?!) he places a hand over hers to stop her movements, meeting her inquisitive gaze with his own intense one. "I can manage."

His voice is dark, filled with retained passion and want (and a little bit of fear), and he wonders how much of it she can hear, and how much of it she wants to. She nods turning away from him, and he worries he's scared her, shown her too much, when he sees she's motioning towards the two mugs that are still sat on her counter from earlier. "I'll just…"

She steps away towards the kitchen area, and when he hears her start the kettle he takes over wrestling with his jeans. The demin is stiff and unyielding, and it takes him a few attempts to get the buttons unfastened. Checking Nikki is still occupied in the kitchen, he loosens his tight hold on the towel slightly, but enough to push his jeans down. The increased weight from the water makes them fall easily once he has them over his hips, and they fall to the floor with a soft thump. Stepping out of them, he gives his socks a cursory glance before pulling them off too. (He'd quite like to get out of his damp underwear too, but that isn't about to happen, not here. Not like this.)

Hearing Nikki approach, he pulls the towel tighter around him, suddenly very aware that he is standing in her living room, all but naked, and freezing cold, with no clean clothes to change into. She heads over to the pile of his clothes, nodding over her shoulder as she does so.

"I'll put these in the dryer for you."

"Thanks." There is a rasp to his voice still, but he doesn't know if it's from the effect of the weather, or the effect of her. He thinks it may be a little of both, and it scares (thrills) him. Giving her a cursory glance, he suddenly realises that while he is now out of his own wet clothes, she is still in hers. He has no idea how long she was outside, but he's just had a reminder on how uncomfortable wet jeans can be.

Voice still a husky rasp, he nods towards her, his words stilling her movement towards his wet things. "You should get out of your jeans too."

There is a beat while the words echo loudly in his head. (Because, seriously, that's the best he can do?) Blushing, he tries recover the situation, the words coming out stilted while he does _not_ in any way shape or form think about her peeling her jeans off in some sort of – NO.

"I mean, uh, because they're wet. From the rain. You should take them off. Change. You should change. I, uh…"

The way her eyes have widened makes him think she knows where his own traitorous thoughts have strayed to, and it only makes his blush and stutter worse. (Jesus, what must she think of him?!)

He trails off, desperately trying to think of a way out of this without him coming across as a pervert, when he is saved by the boiling of the kettle. She nods towards it, saying, "Ok. I'll go change. You get coffee duty."

He breathes a sigh of relief, muttering a quick, "Yes, ma'am," as she passes. (Seriously, is he trying to get thrown out?) When she stops he knows she's heard him, and he bends his head, making it appear he is deep in his task, and not trying to sneak a glance at her again. Feeling the towel begin to drop, he pulls it closer to him, and only begins to breathe again normally when she finally leaves the room.

Spotting the pile of wet clothes left on her floor, he picks them up, depositing them instead into the dryer in her kitchen. Now that he is alone again, his mind cannot help but go over the events that have lead them here, and he hangs his head, his hands stilling their motions, instead falling to the counter before him. Apparently, there are no limits to the ways in which he can embarrass himself in front of her.

With a hefty sigh, he finishes making the coffees, picking up one mug and taking a seat on her sofa. Staring into its depths as if it has all the answers to questions he doesn't even know how to ask, he hears her re-enter the room and start the dryer.

Unable to look at her, even when she joins him on the sofa, he takes a sip of his coffee. Feeling her hand find his he lets her take hold, the gentle pressure of her squeeze almost too much for him. Eventually, he finds enough courage to squeeze back, trying to convey everything into that one simple gesture.

He knows he hasn't succeeded when she turns to look at him. He glances up at her for a moment, before finding solace in the hand she has yet to let go of. If he can stay like this for the foreseeable future he might be ok.

Her next words shatter that illusion, and he sighs. Life was never going to be that easy.

"We really need to talk."

* * *

TBC


	11. Chapter 11: Nikki

A/N: Sorry for the delay. I've been ill, and then had to catch up RL stuff from being ill. But on the plus side, I'm better now, so there shouldn't be such a huge delay before the next chapter. Thanks for sticking with me.

* * *

They sit in silence for a long moment, hands still clasped between them, not looking at each other. She lets the heat of her mug warm her hand as she cradles it, taking the occasional gulp as the coffee turns cold. Eventually, with her mug now empty, the quiet becomes too much, and she turns her head towards him.

"I know you…"  
"I'm sorry I…"

He speaks at the same time, and they give an embarrassed laugh. Jack nods to her. "Sorry. You go."

She takes a breath, knowing her first statement is the most important one. "I know you wouldn't hurt me."

When he ducks his head away from her, staring into his now coffee mug, she squeezes the hand she still has a tight hold of. Still facing away, he rasps, "James thought I could."

"Yes, well, obviously James doesn't know you like I do." When he still doesn't meet her gaze, her tone becomes anxious, desperate for him to believe her. "I swear, Jack, I tried to tell him, but he kept going on and on… he wouldn't listen to me. He said something about a sister…"

She sees Jack nod, finally glancing in her direction. "Claire. I've never met her. He doesn't really talk about her much."

"He told me she was abused. Said that's how he had that card. I guess…" she releases his hand for a moment, bringing it to her neck. "I guess it, this, hit pretty close to home."

He gives a snort with no mirth behind it. "Yeah."

They lapse back into silence. She feels him shift slightly beside her, and she wonders what he's thinking. Placing her mug on the table in front of them, she leans forwards, resting her weight on her arms where she's resting them on her knees, her hands clasped together. When he still doesn't say anything more, she turns her head slightly to look at him.

His form is still hunched under his borrowed towel, head bowed again, but at least he has stopped shivering, and his pallor has returned to a somewhat normal shade. Confident he's no longer on the cusp of developing hypothermia (just as well, she _really_ didn't relish the thought of having to explain _that_ one to the others at work (Read; Clarissa)), she tries again.

"What were you going to say?"

"Huh?" Jack raises his head, meeting her gaze with a confused one of his own.

"Before. You were going to say something. What was it?"

"Oh." He shakes his head, looking away from her again. "It doesn't matter now."

His quiet tone and soft rebuttal confuse her. After everything they've been through today, he's going to push her away? Has she somehow pissed him off that much he no longer wants anything to do with her? (No. Don't be stupid.) Hesitantly, not sure how she'll cope if the answer to her question is 'yes', she asks, "Are… Are you angry with me?"

That at least seems to spur him into some sort of life, and this time when her gaze is met he doesn't drop it. "What? No." He gives a firm shake of his head. "Why would you… No."

"But… You didn't answer your phone." It's not the moment she's really thinking of, but now that she's said it she realises his cold brush off earlier has stung more than she thought it would. Because, if he's not angry with her, why would he ignore her frantic attempts to reach him?

"My phone?"

The confusion in his tone makes her pause. "I tried calling. Before, when you were out. I called. You didn't… so I thought…" She trails off before the accusation she can feel building is released, staring intently at her hands, unable to meet his gaze for fear of seeing his… what? Disappointment? Judgement? She's not sure.

Before she can work it out, he gives a sigh beside her. "Nikki. No. No, I'm not angry at you."

"But," she pauses, daring to give him a small glance out the corner of her eye. "But you didn't answer…"

He interrupts her before she can finish. "I didn't even have it with me. I left it. It's in my jacket. When I left, I didn't… you called me?"

She finds she is shocked by his shocked tone. He had ran out on her, clearly upset, and he expected her to what, ignore it? Let him run away thinking she thought that about him? Seriously?! Anger building in her tone, she gives him a scathing look. "Wha-? Of course I called you. You just ran out of here… I didn't even… I was worried about you!"

"Why?"

She is staring openly at him now, truly baffled by his behaviour. "What do you mean, why? You're my friend. You were upset. I wanted to make sure…"

His own tone has become angry, the volume raised. (Jesus, why can't they ever just have a normal conversation without everything getting so screwed up?!) "What? That I wasn't beating up another wall? Is that what you…?"

"God, no, that's not it at all!" She can feel her own anger building again. "Stop putting words in my mouth!"

"Then what is it, huh? What?"

It's the mocking in his tone that finally breaks her, and the truth of the previous night come out unbidden.

"It was my fault!"

They sit for a moment in silence, the quiet after the yelling a shock to the system. God, why did she have to go and say that? Convinced he's about to walk out on her again (clothed or not), his quiet voice stalls her. "What? How is any of this your fault?"

Avoiding the eye contact he's trying to make, she mutters to her hands, "Because I should have stopped him."

She can tell she's confused him when he says, "What? James? You said you tried…"

Understanding dawns, and she shakes her head. "No. Not James. Last night. Simon. I should have…"

"What?"

She finds herself stuttering over the events of the previous night. The memory of his grip around her throat after she had distracted him away from Amy making her voice falter. "I goaded him. I just. He. With Amy. And then…"

Jack interrupts her again, and she can hear the anger in his tone, making her wince. "I can't. I can't hear this."

She reaches for him, trying not to show how much he hurts her when he pulls away from her hand. "Jack..."

He evades her grip, standing up, clearly intending to leave. In desperation, she stands too and goes to grab his wrist, but he pulls himself free, taking a step back. "No. Stop it. Just stop it. I can't... please, Nikki."

She is crying again now, can feel the tears as they well unbidden, before one breaks free and escapes. "I'm sorry." She doesn't know what she's apologising for. Anything. Maybe everything. All she wants is for him to stop running away from her, and the apology comes out in desperation.

Her tears, at least, seem to stall him momentarily. "Don't apologise." He shakes his head, but still moves away from her, heading towards the dryer that she has belatedly realised has stopped its cycle. "I should…"

Following him with her gaze, she watches silently as he pulls the dryer open, quickly turning her head around when he pulls his clothes out, the grip on his towel faltering slightly. After a few minutes (during which she does _not_ look round to see him dressing (ok, so she might have peeked. A little,)) he walks back past her to his shoes. When he doesn't stop, but proceeds to put them on, she panics. "Where are you going?" He doesn't answer, but instead heads towards her hallway. "Jack?"

She reaches for him, and has successfully managed to get him turned to face her when she finally hears what it is he's muttering. "I need to go… I need… I can't…"

He pulls away from her again, and she gives a small cry of frustration. "Goddamn it Jack! Stop pushing me away."

He turns back to her without her guidance this time, and she starts at the hard look that has returned to his eyes. "You should stay away from me."

"Wha-?"

"I mean it." He turns back around, and suddenly the hot-cold emotional rollercoaster he has put her on is all too much. Grabbing his wrist, she spins him on the spot, and, without another word or thought, slaps him, hard, across his face.

The echo of the slap rings loud in her otherwise silent flat. She stares at him in shock, desperate to say something. Anything. But what can she possibly say? He stares back equally silent, a red mark appearing on his cheek. She wants to say sorry. Wants to beg for forgiveness. What comes out (on a broken sob, and it is _that_ which she hates the most) is, "I hate you."

"Nikki…"

"You have no idea what I…" She breaks off into another sob. Jack, at least, has stopped moving towards the door, but she is still shocked when he wraps his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. She resists for a moment, struggling against him, but his hold is strong and secure, and (because she is weak and has no will power against him) she gives up.

She feels his hand as it rubs soothing circles over her back, and she leans slightly further into his embrace as he mutters words of comfort to her. "No, no, don't cry. Not over me. Not… I'm not worth it."

"Says who?" The words are mumbled into his chest, and she more feels than hears his sigh in his response.

"Everyone. Everyone says it."

She pauses. There is so much she wants, needs to say in response to that. But she knows he won't hear any of her reasoning at the moment. Instead, she simply tells him, "I don't."

Jack sighs against her, his arms stilling, holding her to him instead. "I know."

They stand like that, two people entwined, the air heavy with everything unsaid, for a long moment. Eventually, she pushes away from him. The beginnings of humiliation (seriously, when is she going to start acting like an adult instead of some sort of emotional wreck?) stops her from being able to meet his gaze, and instead she stares at the floor. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

There are too many answers for that to be classed as a simple question. Eventually, she settles for, "For getting hurt." It's not everything, doesn't even come close to everything, but at least it's a start.

Jack, however, seems to find this answer inadequate, and she finds herself being pushed back to arm's length. "That's not why I'm angry." He drops his hold on her, tilting his head back with a frustrated growl. "God, you just don't get it do you? You really have no idea."

She is back to being confused. "What?"

"It's not that you got hurt." He pauses for a moment, before giving a rueful shake of his head. "Ok. It is. But not because…" Again he trails off, and she wonders what exactly it is he's trying to convey to her. Seemingly finding the words he wants, he continues. "I'm not explaining this very well. It's what you getting hurt does to me. It's about who, what I am. What I can do. How I can destroy…"

Nikki interrupts him. She has to. "Jack… You could never destroy…"

Apparently her interruption was the wrong move, however, because he suddenly meets her gaze with such fierce passion she cannot look away, even if she'd wanted to. "God, don't you get it, Nikki? Don't you see? I'm so completely in love with you I can't even…"

He stops suddenly, a look of… something she cannot even begin to describe passing over his face. Barely daring to breathe, she asks, "Did… did you just say you love me?"

She can see the panic in his face, even as his eyes break their captive hold on hers and he begins to look at everything in the room except her. His voice has a slight hysterical tone to it that, had the subject matter been anything else, she might have found humorous. "Love? No. No. Well, ok, yes. I mean…

"You… you love me?" There is a sort of breathless wonder to her own tone now. She had known he was attracted to her (she has eyes, and he isn't always as subtle as he thinks he is) but love?

Before she can dwell on the shock reveal (but really, is it a shock?) he is speaking again, haltingly at first before becoming quicker. "Well, yeah. Ok. Look. That was really dumb. Forget it, ok? I didn't say anything. We'll just put that down to a temporary loss of hearing, or something, ok." He nods his head, still not looking at her. It's oddly sweet. "Right. Good. Ok. So I should go. Yeah. I'm just gonna…"

Smiling now, she stops his rambling with a gentle touch on his arm. "Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Before he can say anything else, she reaches up, bringing his head down slightly, and kisses him.

* * *

TBC

A/N: does this count as fluff?


	12. Chapter 12: Jack

A/N: OMG, I hear you cry, an update! So, um, yeah, hi. Been a while. I'm sorry about that. Life sort of took over for the past (checks calendar) 11 months?! Eeek. If anyone is still out there and is still waiting and willing to read this, I want you to know I am truly grateful for your patience and support.

* * *

They sit in silence for a long moment, hands still clasped between them, not looking at each other. Eventually, just as he is reaching his limit of the quiet becoming too much, she turns her head towards him.

"I know you…"  
"I'm sorry I…"

She has evidently come to the same conclusion as him about their self-inflicted silence, as she breaks it at the same time, and they give an embarrassed laugh. The sound makes his heart jump a little, and he nods to her. "Sorry. You go."

"I know you wouldn't hurt me." She speaks clearly, her gaze locked with his as she sooths his soul. Not wanting her to see the full effect of her words on him (because how can she be so damned sure?) he ducks his head away from her. His eyes fix into his now empty coffee mug, the dregs pooling in its base. She squeezes the hand she still has a tight hold of, but even the reassuring pressure of her hand in his can't make him face her.

"James thought I could." (And that is the crux of the matter, isn't it?)

Nikki gives a scoff, and he feels his heart jump (again) at the sound. "Yes, well, obviously _James_ , (and is it his imagination or did she just sneer his name?) doesn't know you like I do."

There is a warmth beginning to grow in his chest at her affirmation, but he still cannot bring himself to look at her. Not quite yet. Apparently his silence is unsettling her though, for she continues much more anxiously before. "I swear, Jack, I tried to tell him, but he kept going on and on… he wouldn't listen to me. He said something about a sister…"

Suddenly, Jack remembers. And it is so obvious to him why James would react like he did that he wants to kick himself for not seeing it sooner. Of course. _Of course._ With a small glance in her direction, he confirms the story. "Claire." He remembers a picture he was shown once of a petite looking woman. One that was taken before everything apparently went to shit. "I've never met her. He doesn't really talk much about her."

He sees Nikki nod out of the corner of his eye. "He told me she was abused. Said that's how he had that card. I guess…" she pulls her hand away from his, brushing up against the dark marks he will see in his nightmares for years to come. "I guess it, this, hit pretty close to home."

That just might be the biggest understatement of the year, and he cannot help the short snort he gives at that. "Yeah." (At least he had only taken his frustration out on an unsuspecting punch bag (and his knuckles) and not repeatedly against a concrete wall. James had been in plaster for weeks, he remembers suddenly. Refusing to say anything, and had threatened to ban him from the gym if he didn't let it go. At least now he finally knows why.)

"What were you going to say?"

The silence is broken with her question, and brings him out of his memories.

"Huh?" He raises his head from where he has bowed it while the past flooded his brain, meeting her confused look with one of his own.

"Before." Nikki waves a hand in the air between them. "You were going to say something. What was it?"

Before? He was? He thinks back over the past 30 minutes, before remembering the half started apology.

"Oh. It doesn't matter now." If the past half hour has given him anything, it's an absolution he has yet to ask for. He's not about to bring up something that will only cause pain. It is obvious though that this soft rebuttal is the wrong approach, and her next question completely floors him.

"Are… Are you angry with me?"

"What? No." Is she serious? Angry at _her_? He shakes his head, if only to emphasise his point. "Why would you… No."

"But… You didn't answer your phone." His phone? When had she tried to call his phone? Not before hunting him down at the gym; he'd checked it for messages when he was getting changed earlier.

"My phone?"

She blinks. "I tried calling. Before, when you were out. I called. You didn't… so I thought…" Her words trail off, and now it is her avoiding his searching gaze, instead staring intently at her (tightly clenched) hands. It is obvious she is anxious about his answer, and it gives him pause.

Never, he will _never_ understand this woman.

"Nikki. No. No, I'm not angry at you."

"But," she pauses again, and he can see her draw in a breath as she gives him a sideways glance. "But you didn't answer…"

He cannot let her do this to herself; putting blame on her shoulders where this is none. Not on his account. "I didn't even have it with me. I left it. It's in my jacket. When I left, I didn't… you called me?"

He doesn't know why he is shocked at this revelation. Despite everything, she is still Nikki. Still has the biggest heart of anyone he has ever known. It shouldn't surprise him like it does.

"Wha-? Of course I called you. You just ran out of here… I didn't even… I was worried about you!" There is an edge to her tone now, one that tells him he has begun to truly piss her off. There is a spark of anger in her eyes too, and it makes them turn a shade darker. (There is something else in her eyes, something beyond the anger. He doesn't dare hope to name it. But he still doesn't understand how the intense emotion can aimed at him.)

"Why?"

He has confused her with his question, he can tell. "What do you mean, why? You're my friend. You were upset. I wanted to make sure…"

And just like that, his heart stutters. Friend. _Friend._ Is that all they are then? After everything? The kisses they shared ( _shared, dammit)_ earlier, when he poured everything, _everything_ he has ever felt for this woman sitting beside him, and she throws it back in his face like that? Is that all she thinks she means to him? He feels his temper beginning to rise, and while he will never, _never_ raise _anything_ against her, he can still use his words.

"What? That I wasn't beating up another wall? Is that what you…?"

Her own tone has turned angry now too. (Jesus, what are they _doing_ to each other?!) "God, no, that's not it at all! Stop putting words in my mouth!"

He is too hurt, too wrapped up in his own heartbreak to stop himself from turning to mocking. "Then what is it, huh? What?"

"It was my fault!"

And suddenly his bubble of hurt and pride and pain is burst with what must be an audible pop. He sits there gaping at her for an unprecedented period of time, too shocked to do anything more than stare. Eventually, he manages to rasp, "What? How is any of this _your_ fault?"

(Doesn't she get it? Doesn't she _see_?)

He tries to get her to meet his gaze, but she is avoiding it at all costs. Muttering in to her hands, she confesses, "Because I should have stopped him."

Stopped him? Stopped who? Huh? "What? James? You said you tried…"

He trails off when she starts shaking her head. "No. Not James. Last night. Simon. I should have…"

This time it is her who trails off. He wants to let it go. Wants to move on. But, dammit it all to hell, he _can't_.

"What?"

She stutters, already strained voice beginning to falter more now. "I goaded him. I just. He. With Amy. And then…"

No. No. Nonononono. He can't listen to this. He has to make her stop talking. Now. "I can't. I can't hear this."

He pulls away from her, even as her hand is reaching for his. It might just be the most difficult thing he has ever done in his life. Especially when her voice catches on his name. "Jack…"

He needs to leave. Now. He needs to get out. Get away. He feels her hand grasp his wrist, but before she can get a true grip he has shaken himself free, moving away from her. "No. Stop it. Just stop it. I can't... please, Nikki."

"I'm sorry." Her apology comes through a sob, and the sight of her tears is almost enough to make him stop. He feels himself falter for a moment, before turning away once more.

"Don't apologise." He shakes his head. The urge to get away takes over. (Doesn't she _get_ it? Doesn't she _see_?) He moves on autopilot towards to now finished dryer. Clothes. He needs clothes. He needs to get out of here before he explodes. "I should…"

Pulling the door open, he quickly dresses, trying to keep his grip on the towel to preserve both their dignity (even though she has turned her head away when she realised what he was doing). It is only when he strides past her, intent on getting to his shoes that she speaks again.

"Where are you going?" _Away,_ his mind says. _Away._ "Jack?"

It is only when she (successfully, this time) catches hold of his wrist and stops his progress towards the hall that he realises he is muttering aloud. "I need to go… I need… I can't…"

Her eyes have widened at his words (it would be comic, but nothing about this whole fucked up situation is funny) and he pulls himself free of her grasp again.

"Goddammit Jack! Stop pushing me away."

The words physically hurt, and he whirls back around, a hard, desperate feeling taking hold of him. Knowing it is present in his eyes, his stare holds her in place, as he growls, "You should stay away from me."

"Wha-?"

He cannot let himself be swayed by her. He is barely holding it together as it is. "I mean it."

He turns away, intent on getting out, when he finds himself being turned back around by her fierce grasp on his wrist. Before he can move, before he can _blink_ , she slaps him, hard, across his face. The echo of it rings loud in her otherwise silent flat, and they both stare at each other in shock.

She is the first to break it. And while the words are not a surprise, the broken tone is. "I hate you."

A tears breaks free from her eye, and his heart stutters.

Oh god.

What has he done?

"Nikki…"

Oh god. He needs to fix this. Goddammit, he needs to fix this _now_.

"You have no idea what I…" Her voice trails off into another sob.

What has he done? Jesus. Fuck. What has he _done_?!

Helpless to do anything else, he steps towards her, pulling her trembling form against his chest. He feels her tense for a moment in his arms, but only tightens his embrace around her, relieved when sags against him. Feeling her tears as they soak through his shirt, he begins to rub soothing circles over her back, desperate to stop her tears.

"No, no, don't cry. Not over me. Not… I'm not worth it."

"Says who?" The words are mumbled into his chest, but at least they're not broken by sobs, so that's something.

He gives a sigh, loosening his arms around her small form, but she does not move away from him. "Everyone. Everyone says it."

There is an obvious pause, and he can almost hear her mind turn over what she could say in response to this. Eventually, she just gives a quiet, "I don't."

It is a benediction, one he didn't know he needed until she gives him it. His arms tighten around her again in response, holding her against him once more. "I know."

They stand like that for what? Minutes? Hours? He's not sure. Eventually, though, he feels her push back away from him. He lets her step back, but not fully out of his embrace. Staring at the floor, she mutters, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

 _(Does_ she get it? _Does_ she see?)

There is a pause, before she whispers, "For getting hurt."

Oh. Unable to stop himself, he pushes her to arm's length. "That's not why I'm angry." Letting his arms fall away completely, he tilts his head back on a frustrated growl. "God, you just don't get it do you? You really have no idea."

"What?" The confused tone only solidifies his heartache. He needs to explain, needs to let her in, even if will be the end of them.

"It's not that you got hurt." _Liar_ , his mind says. _Liar._ A quick glance shows that she can _tell_ he is lying, so he stops, and gives a rueful shake of his head. "Ok. It is. But not because…"

He trails off again. How does he make it so that she gets it? How does he make it so that she _sees_? "I'm not explaining this very well." He pauses. Takes a breath. Puts his heart on the line. "It's what you getting hurt does to me. It's about who, what I am. What I can do. How I can destroy…"

She interrupts him again. "Jack… You could never destroy…"

Jesus, why does she always have to interrupt him? "No. God, don't you get it, Nikki? Don't you see? I'm so completely in love with you, I can't even…"

He stops. The words he has spoken have left his mouth without his permission, and Oh. _Oh_. So _that's_ what love feels like.

Nikki's voice, hesitant and scared and just a little bit hopeful, brings him out of his own revelation. "Did… did you just say you love me?"

Did he? Oh, well, yes, he did. Great. Fantastic. Brilliant, even. He cannot look at her. Cannot bear to see the rejection he is sure will be written all over his face. Because people like Nikki do not love people like him. "Love? No. No." Except, if this is the one time he gets to say it without being kicked in the balls, he's going to damn well say it. "Well, ok, yes. I mean…

"You… you love me?" there is a breathless wonder to her tone, and it gives his heart, his stupid, pathetic, so-in-love-with-her-it-hurts heart hope.

"Well, yeah." And then he panics. "Ok. Look. That was really dumb. Forget it, ok? I didn't say anything. We'll just put that down to a temporary loss of hearing, or something, ok?" He nods his head, still not looking at her. He needs to go. Before he does something else completely stupid. Like kiss her again. (Even if he really, really, wants to.) "Right. Good. Ok. So I should go. Yeah. I'm just gonna…" He points his thumb over his shoulder towards her door.

He's going to leave. Any moment now.

Just as soon as she stops looking at him like that.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

He opens his mouth to protest, but finds himself being pulled down slightly by her hand in his hair (and just when did that happen?) and all thoughts of protest, of leaving, of _anything_ , fly out of his head when she finally presses her mouth to his.

* * *

A/N: Am I forgiven?


End file.
